Playing a Little

by Breanna Hayse

  Playing a Little

  By

  Breanna Hayse

  Copyright © 2013 by Stormy Night Publications and Breanna Hayse

  Copyright © 2013 by Stormy Night Publications and Breanna Hayse

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

  www.StormyNightPublications.com

  Hayse, Breanna

  Playing a Little

  Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson

  Images by Bigstock/PixelEmbargo and Bigstock/Anna Omelchenko

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.

  Chapter One

  “…and they lived happily ever after. The End.”

  “Mama? Can I be a princess one day?” the little girl asked eagerly as her mother closed the book.

  “No, Camille. Princesses are just fairy tales. And they live in very high towers all by themselves. You don’t like high places or being alone. Plus, they are stunningly beautiful and you…”

  …Are not blond, blue-eyed, tall, or busty… Camille sighed to herself, looking in the mirror. An ugly duckling, yes… but never a princess. She rolled her eyes as the director called her back to the set. It was the final episode of Pippi, All Grown Up. She hated this role, having played the ugly Pippi Longstocking since her penchant for drama was discovered while she was barely eight years old. Her shocking red hair, splattering of freckles, and her clumsy awkwardness gave way to her gaining the pathetic, unattractive roles and, oddly enough, a certain stardom. Her mother reveled in her fame, but Camille was daily reminded of how far from being a princess she would always be.

  Since she was no longer a child, the roles became sparse. Hollywood did not want ugly women who still looked like homely little girls on the stage. They wanted princesses… raving beauties who stole the spotlight. Part of her missed the carefree, spontaneous freedom that came from playing a child’s part. Her real childhood had existed simply to work, and now that, too, was dwindling.

  “Hey, LeCroix… Whatcha gonna do now?” Jerry, her older costar of ten years, taunted. He had already landed a prime role in a movie, playing a detective with special abilities to see into the future.

  “I don’t know. Maybe go to college,” Camille said quietly, her innate shyness exposed when not behind a camera lens.

  “Good thing they don’t care what you look like, huh?” he laughed cruelly. “You could always major in drama. The stage always requires talking dogs. Why don’t you sit and beg for me once more… For old times’ sake!”

  Camille felt her heart pound furiously as she silently retreated to her dressing room. Once the door was closed, she allowed herself to cry. She was not one of those pretty criers… oh no, that would have been too much to ask for. If she had looked in the mirror, she would have seen the image that always followed a good cry, including a bright red nose, swollen eyelids, and red, puffy lips. She longed to be held, comforted, and reassured that she held some value. She also knew she was too hideous for any man to be interested in the likes of her. Get it together, girl, she reprimanded herself. A knock on the door startled her.

  “Cam, it’s me. Open up.”

  “Go away, Stan. I don’t want to be bothered right now.”

  “I have an audition for you, girl. Open up. I know you’ve been crying again. I don’t care what your face looks like. Never have, never will. I care only about that little heart of yours and the future that’s in store for you.”

  With a sigh, Camille blew her nose and stood to unlock the door. Stanley walked in, shaking his head as he pointed at her face. “Why the hell do you keep letting that stupid, little, untalented jerk get to you? He’s nothing, kid. He’ll burn out in a couple of years because he has no real skill or charisma. He is nothing more than a pretty face and you know it.”

  “What do you want?” Camille sniffed, turning her back to the man who had managed her career from the very beginning. He had done well for her, making certain that she was taken care of, on and off the set, including setting up a trust fund that no one but herself could touch until she turned 21. She still had two years, but it was enough to keep her comfortable for the rest of her life if she managed herself well. She trusted him more than she trusted anyone in the world, yet she knew he always had an agenda.

  “There is a casting call for a movie that I think would fit you well. I’ve already contacted the producer and he wants to see you immediately.”

  Stan sounded excited, making Camille eye him suspiciously. “What’s the catch? Do I play a one-eyed toad that makes the prince puke if he kisses her?”

  He shrugged, plopping on the couch and grabbing an apple from the bowl next to her dressing table. Biting into it with a loud crunch, he answered, “No catch. There’s a lot of preparation needed for the character if you get the part, and they are willing to provide you anything you need. They want to film in about six months.”

  “Six months?! That’s forever in Hollywood time. Why the delay?”

  “It’s to allow the cast members to fall naturally into their roles. The producer isn’t very concerned about the time period. He’s more worried about the characters having a natural charisma with one another.”

  “And what part do I play? The ugly maid? Or maybe a throwaway?”

  “Cam, I don’t know how many times I need to tell you that you are not ugly. Your looks are unique and charming, and there are an awful lot of people who love them. No, kiddo, this is for lead female. The piece is called His Little Girl.”

  “Is that one of those kink pieces? I told you, I’m not having sex on set…”

  “I haven’t read the script, but Mr. Crenshaw assures me that it is spectacular. Something completely unique and intriguing, like all his work.”

  “Crenshaw? Arthur Crenshaw?” Camille’s interest suddenly grew. He was a top producer in both Canada and throughout Europe. He had the reputation of taking the unknown and make them world renowned. He also was not afraid to take chances, and never compromised his reputation with smut. This was an opportunity she would be stupid to refuse.

  “Yep. We leave tomorrow afternoon. We’re flying to Ontario. Dress warm.”

  “Are you serious? Arthur Crenshaw wants me? Why?” Camille repeated in disbelief.

  “Yes, ma’am. And you know very well that in this business, when somebody like Crenshaw calls, it would be foolish to ignore it. This sounds like it might be your biggest role yet, my dear. Try to show some excitement and less suspicion, okay? His reputation is flawless and I don’t believe you have anything to worry about.”

  “It’s not his reputation that I am worried about,” Camille muttered.

  * * *

  Camille fidgeted on the plane, uncomfortable with the first-class accommodations provided by her would-be producer. Stan sat quietly next to her, thumbing through a magazine. She elbowed him. “Don’t I have any lines to learn? What kind of audition is this anyway?”

  “Crenshaw only said it is dependent on chemistry. He already knows you can act, but he needs to see how you ‘react.’ He commented that he wants you to take the part, to embrace it as your own, not just learn it. I don’t know anything else except he seemed to have a lot of faith in your ability. He put you first class all the way.”

  Camille rubbed her sweaty palms against her jeans, wondering what Stan meant by ‘reacting.’ It sounded very much like improvisation… and she loathed improv. The technique forced her to be hersel
f, not a wonderful character whom she could hide behind. And Camille liked to hide whenever she could.

  The sky was overcast and gray, with snow flurries falling gently as they exited the plane. A Hummer limousine was waiting for them and Camille found herself being ushered into the warmed leather seats next to Stan. The long drive lulled her to sleep… and she fell into her favorite dream of being a princess, locked in an ivory tower, waiting for her handsome prince to rescue her. A small smile flickered across her face as she slept. In her dreams she was happy, loved, and hopeful. And so very beautiful.

  Stan shook her awake as they pulled into a long driveway that was lined by snow-covered trees. The large gothic house and tall pines spread before them and, in the distance, she could see a crystalline lake that glimmered with the signs of freezing over in the icy climate.

  “Where are we?” Camille asked the driver, drawing her light coat around her shoulders. She had not been prepared for the sudden drop in temperature and shivered as the wind struck her face.

  “Mr. Crenshaw’s estate, ma’am. He is expecting you.”

  “Stan? Aren’t you coming in?” Camille asked, noticing that Stan had not donned his coat, nor did he make any attempt to leave the warm vehicle.

  “I’m going to the guest house. Mr. Crenshaw insisted on interviewing you without my influence. He said he would get a better feel of who you were and what you would need to do the job. Don’t be so scared. He does not bite, I promise.”

  “Oh…” Camille stuttered. It wasn’t unheard of that an actor presents without their agent, but it still was uncomfortable for her. “Are you sure? What if I say the wrong thing?”

  “Mr. Crenshaw is a congenial sort of folk, ma’am,” the driver assured her with a pleasant smile. “Just do as he says and all will be well.”

  “Okay, I guess. I don’t have a lot of choice here, do I? That’s all right, I can carry my own bags…” Camille said, feigning bravery behind a forced smile as she swung her feet out of the Hummer and watched them dangling above the ground.

  “Not here, you don’t. I will take this to the guest house for you,” the driver winked, helping her out of the vehicle. “We take care of our ladies like gentlemen here. Be careful now and watch your step. There are patches of ice on this path and we don’t want you to slip on any of them and hurt yourself. Let’s get you inside and warmed up. You look positively chilled.”

  Camille fought not to twirl around in the giant entryway, feeling a bit like Annie when she first entered the mansion belonging to Daddy Warbucks. Another ugly, little redhead, she sighed to herself… but that little girl had a happy ending. I just play in roles with happy endings.

  “Miss LeCroix! It is so good to meet you! I’m Arthur Crenshaw. Please, come inside and make yourself comfortable,” a booming voice sounded from the stairway. A heavy-set man in his late sixties hurried down, catching Camille in a warm, inviting embrace. “Thank you, Kyle. You may go now. Give Stan my regards and please tell him I will pick him up for dinner at seven.”

  The driver tipped his hat, winked at Camille, and quickly left the house. A woman appeared out of nowhere, handing her a cup of hot tea and folding a warm cape across her shoulders. Before she could offer her thanks, Arthur ushered her into the large sitting room and sat her down before a blazing fire. She sipped the tea, surprised to find that it was prepared the way she liked it. A light chai and vanilla oolong medley with a splash of vanilla creamer. She lifted her eyebrow, detecting coconut and cardamom in the background. How did he know her favorite blend?

  “This tea is incredible. Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Crenshaw…”

  “Call me Arthur. My, my… you are a beauty,” he commented as he leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms.

  Camille felt the heat rising to the roots of her hair, wishing that she could just disappear. Although his compliments sounded sincere, she suspected he was as accomplished an actor as those he directed and produced. “We both know that isn’t true, Mr. Crenshaw… Arthur. But thank you for the sentiments.”

  “Nonsense, my girl. I have made my fortune by being able to see past the first impression. You have a delicate bone structure, a perfect little nose, full lips, long lashes, and the most interesting color eyes I have ever seen. Hazel?”

  “It depends on what I’m wearing. What are you doing?” Camille was startled as the big man suddenly leaned into her and deftly yanked the elastic from her messy bun.

  “Taking your hair down. Yes… Gorgeous…” Arthur proclaimed, laying her thick mane over her shoulders. “You should wear it down more often. It is lovely.”

  “About the audition… what do you need from me?” Camille asked, squirming with discomfort as he continued to fuss over her appearance.

  “Have you ever worn pink?” he asked, tilting her face in his hand as he again studied her bone structure under the light of the hanging lamp. Camille shook her head, feeling like a poodle at a dog show. Arthur sighed, “Shame. The right shade of pink would do wonders for that complexion. Your skin is like a porcelain doll, Camille. Why can’t you see how pretty you are?”

  “I’ve made a career of accepting roles for ugly girls, Mr. Crenshaw. That’s who I am and what I’m comfortable with. Now, the audition…”

  “Have you ever had a lover? Or been romantically involved with anyone?”

  “What kind of question is that? I mean,” Camille gripped her hands together tightly, “no. I am only nineteen and… I’ve never even been on a date. I told you, ugly girls…”

  “No more comments about being ugly. You are beautifully unique. Fresh, innocent, inexperienced. It’s perfect. Yes… you will do wonderfully.” Arthur sounded pleased, sitting back and gazing at her.

  “Wonderfully for what?”

  “My film. You will be perfect. This will provide you the greatest opportunity of your career. You will be playing opposite an experienced male lead. Yes… You will do quite nicely.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “You’ll see, child,” Arthur chuckled. “You’ll see. I promise you that it will be a hit. It will change your life forever. I also promise that it will be the most challenging role you will ever take, which is why it will be so fabulous.”

  “What do you mean by challenging? Who do I play?”

  “Yourself, my dear. You will be playing yourself. This film requires pure spontaneity and reaction. I suspect that being unable to disguise yourself behind an imagined persona will provide you much discomfort, and increase your desire to run and hide. Your job is to communicate what you experience as you conquer this fear.”

  Camille made a face; she hated being herself. “Assuming I do conquer it, you mean. But yes, you are probably right. I’ve never had to explore my own character, so this is certainly be something I won’t feel confident about. Maybe you should get someone else…”

  “No, no, no! This is what I want. Your fans love you and will be able to relate to the real little girl who is discovering herself as a woman. People need to see your true responses to situations, not predetermined ones. I’m depending on your lead to help bring out the best, and the worst, in you.”

  “Can you at least tell me who you’ve gotten as my costar?” Camille frowned.

  Arthur’s eyes sparkled. “Erik. Erik Renault.”

  Camille’s mouth dropped open and she felt her heart pound. She’d had a celebrity crush on Erik since the minute he walked on her set seven years ago. She had been only twelve years old then and playing Pippi. The older man had been given the part of a successful, handsome realtor trying to buy Pippi’s house. Camille’s character had pranked him to force his departure and had resulted in her being caught, and spanked, for her bad behavior. Her face reddened as she remembered the outcome. She had decided to bite his leg to make the scene more realistic, not expecting that the following two swats he delivered would be much stronger than she expected. She had howled in pain as his hand landed sharply on her little, squirming backside, making her instantly regre
t her actions. And producing the most realistic scene of her career.

  She had never forgotten the feeling of being over his knee, or the odd sense of comfort in his holding her when he had finished. His words, spoken to the sniffling Pippi, had remained in her own heart long after the scene had been cut.

  I am always here for you, Pips. Just call if you ever need me.

  How many times did she want to make that call for real? She had never been touched by a man, beyond a punch on the shoulder or being dressed and made up before a shoot. Erik’s strong embrace, even while acting, had left her with a sense of emptiness once he had left the stage.

  “Erik’s opposite me? What does he play?” Camille forced herself out of her reminiscence.

  “Your teacher, Camille. In the film, he will be playing your pseudo-uncle in a life story known as age-play. Because this is something unique, and rather taboo, I decided that it would be best for the two of you to have some time alone to learn and practice the lifestyle before you do the final shoot. I will give you the actual script after that time. Like I said, it will be a challenge on so many levels, but I really believe you can do it. Are you up to taking a lead role in this film?”

  “Age-play? Like in making me dress like a child? Arthur, Pippi has grown up and…”

  “It does not matter, because she was never allowed to really be a little girl. By embracing this part, you will have the opportunity to not only play a child, but be allowed to freely react as one. Pippi’s character was always irresponsible, independent, and without boundaries. She was forced to look out for herself. This character requires much the same, but more reactive and with less production. You will be guided and directed by Erik and I expect him to elicit realism. I want the true essence of cause and effect, the raw emotions that come with finding yourself in a situation where you have no control. That will mean putting the professionalism aside and not being afraid of the consequences.”