“`And my internship?’ I reminded Dr Windham.” Zaftig looked at me with vacant eyes. She was still distant.
“`Oh,’ says Dr Windham, `the assistant directorship counts as an internship and residency in Emergency Medicine,'” Zaftig continued her discourse, “`and the pay,’ Windham shook her head, `and 9 — 5 hours are a lot better,’ declared Dr Windham, `We’ll meet tomorrow morning at 6AM in the shower of the subbasement at the entrance to the Research Institute. I’ll be there overnight and I have a busy day ahead of me. Shower time is the only time I have available. Being the Hospital President involves a lot more than sitting behind a desk and acting impervious.’ In a softer voice she tells me, ‘Sleep on it and we’ll speak privately in the morning. Any questions?'”
“`Women in the internship program who’ve rotated through Dr Thurmond’ s department say that he regards female interns as secretaries,'” I told Dr Windham.
“And Dr Windham’s response?” I prodded Zaftig.
“Dr Thurmond is slated to retire in a year,’ Dr Windham outlined her plans, ‘Over that year, I will require him to use his accumulated leave time to phase him out and to allow his assistant to gradually take over. I’d like you to be that replacement. That is all.’ Dr Windham dismissed me. I have to have my answer for Dr Windham by 6AM in the shower of the sub — basement Institute, where she’s inspecting one of the University Hospital’s research projects,” Zaftig informed me.
“Did Dr Windham tell you why your name came up?” I inquired.
“Oh, that was the comical item. Dr Windham laid a glossy photo on her desk that someone had sent her anonymously,” Zaftig recounted the awkward scene.
“And your response?” I questioned.
“I told her,” Zaftig recalled, “`Oh, that photo was taken by my classmates at a graduation party, after my classmates proned me in bed in an unclothed condition with Al Mandy, the most prominent features of which are my gluteal prominence sticking up in the air and Al’s penis experiencing tumescence as the result of vasodilation secondary to physical contact.'”
“What did Dr Windham say to that? I am anxious to hear what she had to say,” I was caught between amazement and incredulity.
Zaftig looked perplexed. “At first, Dr Windham said nothing. Then she laughed hysterically. The photo and the note accompanying it prompted her to come across the Dr Zaftig films and found them entertaining,” Zaftig reported, “Dr Windham. She’d want to share her copies of the film with friends in Hollywood.”
“You are going to take the offer,” I asked.
“I don’t know!” Zaftig was on the verge of tears again, “Am I walking out on all that I’ve worked for and wanted to be?”
“No, you are dealing your nemesis Carter Plessinger, a double fuck — you,” I informed Zaftig. To her shocked look, I gave her the news, “Carter’s ex — girl friend Ashleigh Keystone agreed to an intense girl — on — girl scene and a shower scene where Ashleigh will explain men’s attraction to girl — on — girl porn, a favorite of her lost love.”
•••
In the fertility clinic, Al called on me, “Ashley, you certainly have some interesting ideas about the locker room scene discussing men’s attraction to lesbian porn. Perhaps, Ms Ehrlich could explain what’s required in this particular nudie cutie. Erica?”
“Not much to it,” I ran through what I knew of the script, “You take your clothes off in the locker room and shower with camera following you, stand in a communal shower with more experienced actresses watching you.”
“You render your lines — girl talk about men I general,” Al explained, “your ex, we’ll call him Cameron, in particular in the locker and the shower.”
“Do I wear anything in this movie?”
“Naturally, not in the girl — girl scene,” Al explained, “But as an extra, playing a receptionist, nurse or a student, in various scenes you’d wear the special Dr Zoptic costume.”
“Some fully clothed scenes?” Ashleigh chuckled.
“Filling in as an extra in the Dr Zoptic outfit means,” Al added, “You wear a lab coat which barely reaches thigh high black fish net stockings, Erica?”
Ashleigh chuckled when I added, “The getup affords men a peek at what they buy these movies for.”
Smoothly Al slid a paper over the glass topped mahogany desk. The document was entitled ACTRESS’ RELEASE OF PERFORMER’S RIGHTS. “Then,” Al, with a smile tendered the document, “if you’re committed, it’s time to sign. I intend to shoot the first take of the locker and shower scene tomorrow night.”
After signing as requested, Ashleigh stood, straightened her clothes and readied to leave.
“One small ritual before you go,” Al asked Ashleigh to remain, “We need a dress rehearsal.”
Shaking her head with a chuckle, Ashleigh corrected, “You mean an undressing scene.”
“A short rehearsal,” Al explained, “will give you the confidence to concentrate on the scene, undressing and showering in the confusion of cameramen shuffling and moving equipment about.”
“Also,” I interjected, “Al needs to see if you have scars, stretch marks, patches of discolored skin that he might need body makeup to cover up.”
“Does Al do this with every aspiring starlet,” Ashleigh asked.
“This maybe a Dr Zoptic film but you’re the star,” I reminded her. “Dr Zoptic fans admire pudgy little Becky Barton for her sheer audacity, but the eyes are on the long — legged dollies in the supporting cast.”
“On to the showers,” Al pointing the direction, declared, “Lets wash up and head home.”
“Can I ask?” Ashleigh paused, “How will your skit humiliate Carter?”
•••
In the apartment with Zaftig, Zaftig related a joke about Dr Windham that she picks female directors of different departments because she likes to hold her private conferences in the shower or the sauna.
“Men are less comfortable being put on display for a woman,” I observed, “than vice — versa. Go to the meeting, hop in the shower with the boss lady, take the job. It’ll be good practice — Al is shooting the shower scene tomorrow night. What would a Dr Zoptic movie be like without her running into the shower, big boobs bobbing,”
“Big butt bouncing,” Zaftig interjected, “because she’s running behind.”
“Al sent home a short excerpt, he wants you to recite,” I handed Zaftig her script.
•••
Opening the door to the locker room at the Fertility clinic, Ashleigh and I followed Al passed from the dark, subdued lighting of the clinic into blinding light reflecting off a white linoleum floor, recently disinfected.
Unlike the cool, sweet smelling chilled air blowing through the clinic, the harsh smell of bleach and ammonia permeated the still tepid air of the locker and the darkened adjacent communal shower. “10 degrees warmer in here,” quipped Ashleigh.
Promising to be right back, Al told Ashleigh and me to get acquainted.
“Al is a doctor? Really?” Ashleigh smirked, “He acts too much like a human being.”
I agreed. “Al never wanted to be a doctor. His passion is the limelight, the theatre. He regards himself as an artist.”
I chuckled when Ashleigh quipped incredulously in a high-pitched voice an artist in porn? “Al uses porn as a prop. It’s not just a question on pretty girls taking off their clothes. Al makes a point.