“You show a director’s cut,” I challenged Al, “Where here?”
“I could,” Al replied, “But I find the University’s audio- visual Department much better equipped.” Turning to one of the workman, Al uttered a quick remark in a foreign tongue. The man laughed and walked away. To me Al noted, “It’s internal lines of control. The great gods who run things see a dark faced man in a utility uniform and see no one. I see a friend who opens many doors for me.”
“I was going to ask you how you manage your last year of med school and your career as a director and producer,” I replied, “But I see how that’s a silly question.”
“In the theatre, the actors take the script as a point of departure to make a great production. The original script doesn’t matter,” Mandy replied, “In medicine, it’s the exact opposite. The script is written after the event. If it’s not in the script; it didn’t happen.”
A week or so later, I received a call to report to lecture hall in the University’s Business School at 10PM. “Stock exchange is closed at that hour. No one will be around,” Al joked.
On the night in question, greeting the half dozen girls from the cast who showed up, Al, led us down the center aisle of a tiered auditorium to certain front row seats in front of an elevated lectern. Jumping on the podium, Al lowering a screen, explained, “The back benches were reserved for my friends, the unsung heroes of the cinema.” He paused to straighten the screen. “By the way, Ms Ehrlich eh Sister Evelyn,” Al addressed me, “Where is your partner, Becky–the future Dr Rebecca Barton, eh — Sister Rachael?”
“Prissy missy Becky Barton drew an overnighter at the hospital,” I replied, “That comes first.”
After calling out in a quick slew of foreign gibberish to one of the security officers in the back benches, Al turned to me, “Becky Barton’ll join us presently. Take a seat. She’ll be with us in half — a — minute.”
“Internal lines of control?” I suggested as I took a seat, which swiveled out of table.
“In the creative processes of the theatre, the actors evolve the on – screen narrative from a script,” Al cracked, “In medicine, the narrative is scripted post factum to justify what occurred. It may create a work of fiction, an event that never occurred.”
At Al’s signal, the lights went out and the clack — clack of the turning reels on the old-fashioned projector opened on berobed and veiled Zaftig as Sister Rachael assist me as Sister Evelyn don my habit.
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On screen, lifting my camisole to whack me on the ass, Sister Rachael (Zaftig). “The Devil Made me do it, Sister Evelyn.”
“Sister Rachel!” I declared, rubbing my tush.
“I need to prod you. We must hurry along to receive new arrivals. We have an important task ahead of us,” Sister Rachel (Zaftig) justified her action, “We have young minds to mold and nubile bodies to discipline.”
Both be-robed and veiled, Sister Rachael (Zaftig) and I greeted a dozen students entering our convent school. “First we need to cast off the vanities and superfluities of ordinary life,” Sister Rachel (Zaftig) roared, “Strip bare ass naked.”
Discovering Jenny Jensen failed to wear panties, Sister Rachel (Zaftig) flew in a rage. Sending me to fetch a pointer, Sister Rachel (Zaftig) berated the pantiless pupil, “What have we here? A scintillating seductress, a salacious strumpet, a street — walker sans culottes suited to slog along the depths of Central Avenue!”
The air crackled with the swish of the pointer as Sister Rachel (Zaftig) whacked Jen’s quivering tush. After marching naked girls to the communal showers. The girls showered as Zaftig and I stood by and watched classifying tushes.
Closing her eyes, Sister Rachel (Zaftig) projected that distant, disconnected glance as if she had fallen into a trance, “Butts fall into five geometric shapes with corresponding personalities: circular — bubbly,” Sister Rachel (Zaftig) pointed out a girl with a round butt before she continued, “square — brainy, trapezoidal — brawny, triangular — batty or flat r boney — bone – headed. Naturally, there’s the fat ass; usually she comes with glasses.”
On screen, Sister Rachel (Zaftig) and I both turned to noise coming from the entrance. Seamlessly, Zaftig, as pig tailed, student Bliss Rawson dressed in a white polka dot dress, came running down the corridor, past the clothes of other students neatly folded along the wall.
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At the squeak of the stool next to me announced Zaftig’s arrival in the lecture hall. “Just in time,” I whispered.
With a silly grin, Zaftig conceded, “When the camera rolled, I became a different person who did a lot more on camera than I really expected Rebecca Barton ever would on her own.”
Like a doctor on his rounds,” Al passing behind us watching Zaftig’s bare breasts bounce, observed, “you become a bigger and better person than you really are.”
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On screen kicking off her black loafers, Zaftig, as pig tailed Bliss Rawson, raised her dress over her head her dress floated to the floor. Continuing to scramble, Bliss (Zaftig) advanced several paces before squatting to drop her dark pantihose. Left in bra, Bliss paused for a second hands on her wide hips rocking from side to side, exposing that round underbelly. Her bra restraining delicious bulbous boobs straining the band across her back so taut a good fiddler could strum a tune. Reaching behind her to release the hasp, Bliss (Zaftig) catapulted her bra skidding down the waxed tile corridor floor, landing at my feet.
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Zaftig leaned over. She sent a tingle through me when she engaged me in a hug. In a sexy whisper, she reminded me that Al shot the scene several times to produce that effect. “I think he just wanted to see my boobs bounce.”
Leaning behind us with hands on our shoulders, Al reminded us, “that’s what our audience pays to see.”
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On screen, Bliss (Zaftig) ran toward me. Her round tush bounced as she bounded down the corridor. I pointed her into the shower where the other naked girls showering chided her, as she entered “Ratchet it up, the girl with boy magnets, pristine sedate and glum, she’d rather become a nun.”
Taking a position under a spigot, Bliss (Zaftig) retorted, “As life unfolds, I’m unrushed, no tale be told, nothing untoward, in remaining untouched.”
Showering concluded, the girls lined up in the gym with a towel across their shoulders to wait to see Dr Zoptic behind a white privacy screen. Last in line, Bliss’ (Zaftig’s) towel hung loosely over her back, exposing her right butt cheek. Dressed in the medical white lab coat, I called each student forward one at a time and accepted her towel, leaving her standing naked to be seen by Dr Zoptic. The girls waiting on the line saw the shadow of the examinee reflected on the screen.
Seamlessly, the camera focused on Zaftig as Dr Zoptic. Strutting confidently,, in an unbuttoned white lab coat, over mesh stockings which left Zaftig’s luscious curves fully exposed to view, Zaftig began the examinations.
Al skillfully spliced the tapes shifted scenes between the line watching and waiting and Dr Zoptic (Zaftig) examining the students. As students waiting to see Dr Zoptic trembled watching shadowy images flash on the medical privacy screen, Dr Zoptic (Zaftig) ran a patient through her examination. First came the hands — on breast exam, With the next the exam focused on the range of motion studies, “arms out, arms up,” Dr Zoptic (Zaftig) ordered, “turn around, stretch legs apart, bend over touch toes.” With another patient, attention was directed by the screeching sound of fitting latex gloves. “Hands on digital rectal exam,” Dr Zoptic (Zaftig) announced as the patient gulped. Once again with near perfection, the last student Bliss (Zaftig) was called forward for her exam. Her breasts bounced during her 100 jumping jacks.
The film closed with Dr Zoptic (Zaftig) reporting her findings to me as Sister Evelyn and Sister Rachel (Zaftig).
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“Ingenious,” Al standing behind us, congratulated himself.
“Conceited, deceitful, arrogant, meticulous, and unforgivably lazy,” I congratulated Al, “You’ll make a great doctor.”
“In theatre as in medical reports,” Al replied with his glistening charm, “The enchantment is the process of creating images of something that plausibly could have happened.”