STRIPPED LOVE
BOOK 1
By Alycia Taylor
Copyright 2015. All rights reserved.
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Chapter One
I rushed down the sidewalk as fast as I could, desperate to get there on time. The moment my agent told me about the part, I knew it could be the role of a lifetime for me. Unfortunately, with rent due on Friday I couldn’t afford to take the day off work, so I scheduled the audition for my lunch break. I knew it would be a tight squeeze to make it from the club on time, but I had to try. Roles like this didn’t come around very often; believe me, I know.
I moved to L.A. two years ago on my eighteenth birthday, certain I could make it as actress. As the middle child in a family of ten daughters, I’d learned that I had to put on a great show if I ever wanted any attention. I was ready to get out on my own, and my parents certainly had their hands full without me. So I took all the money I’d been saving up babysitting since I was fourteen, bought a bus ticket, and headed for California and stardom. Armed with the naïve confidence of the inexperienced, I got a brutal wake-up call as I was laughed out of nearly every audition I went to. So I took some professional acting classes, got an agent, and things started looking better. I got really excited when I landed a role on a television show being produced right here in Hollywood, but it turned out to be a nonspeaking part as a background extra, and in the end my pay didn’t even cover the cab fare to get there.
“I’m sorry, Avery. The director said you’ve got talent, but you just don’t have the right look for the part,” my agent, Carter, told me time and time again. It was so damn frustrating. I did everything I could to fit the all-American archetype. I wore my blonde hair in soft layers down to my shoulders. My hazel eyes could be made to look brown or green depending on the make-up and clothes that I wore. I had pretty features and wore the right clothes.
I knew just what the problem was; I had the misfortune of being born from hearty stock. All the Phillips women were. Back home it wasn’t a big deal, but when you were looking to be a movie star, it was the kiss of death. I was too big to play the love interest or female lead because directors always wanted a petite woman who would make the lead actor look big and strong. That just didn’t work when the actress was too heavy for the hero to carry to safety, or sweep into his arms for a romantic kiss.
My mother tried to convince me and all my sisters that men like women with a little something to hold onto. She said, “The Phillips women have always been voluptuous, with ample breasts and full round hips, perfect for childbearing.”
I knew she was trying to make that sound like a good thing, but by Hollywood standards I was a lumbering barge. None of the casting calls asked for a large woman with childbearing hips, and the ones that did were looking to make fun of that body type and not celebrate it.
I hated my body and wished I could change it, but even if I dieted until I literally starved myself to death, I would still be big compared to all the anorexic twigs that surrounded me at every turn. Thin, waif-like girls with slender hips and tiny waists were the ones who got all the acting jobs. So what if their skeletal structures couldn’t support the weight of the enormous boob jobs they’d paid for. Directors, producers, and especially audiences didn’t want real women with real bodies, they wanted a fantasy and that’s exactly what studio executives were hiring.
“Forget being a star or a leading lady. You went to Hollywood to be an actress, so act! Take any role you can get. Be a character actress and audition for the roles made for women like us,” my sister Andrea said to me one night when I called her crying. I’d just been turned down for yet another role. The casting director even told me that my acting was the best he’d seen, but he was afraid I’d look too huge on screen. I was by no means fat, but the way he talked made me feel like an elephant. I knew my sisters would understand what I was going through like none of my skinny Californian friends ever could.
So I took Andrea’s advice and asked my agent to look for roles that fit my body type. Unfortunately, those were few and far between, and when they did come around they were always for the goofy best friend, intended to provide comic relief. It was humiliating even trying out for some of them and I hated it. I wanted to be a star, not a sidekick!
Meanwhile, the bills kept coming in and my savings had dwindled fast. So I did what I had to do and got a job working at BBW, a strip club featuring Big Beautiful Women. A woman I had met at my previous apartment building told me about it. Her name was Shawnee, and she was just about the same size as me, with beautiful mocha skin, long black hair that fell in luscious curls to her waist, and the most gorgeous smile I’d ever seen. She saw me crying as I found the eviction notice on my door and took me to the club to meet the manager. She and I have been best friends ever since, and became roommates shortly after.
The first time I stripped at the club, I cried between every set, but at the end of the night I’d made enough money to catch up on the rent with enough left over to actually buy food! After that it got easier and now I’m proud to say I’m pretty damn good at it. Stripping is no different than acting; you’re playing a role, making the men in the audience believe that they’re the sexiest men you’ve ever seen and your body is on fire with desire just for them. If you’re a good enough actress to convince them of that, the dollar bills start pouring in. Still, it can leave an empty feeling at the end of the night and it’s easy to see why so many exotic dancers turn to drinking, drugs, or prostitution looking to fill the void.
I was wondering if maybe I hadn’t made a big mistake leaving my family and coming out here to L.A. when my agent called and said he’d found the perfect role for me. I’d heard that from him before and was pretty dubious, but when the script came in the mail I read it and he was right!
The film was going to star Dimitri Morrison, who is literally the hottest male lead in Hollywood right now. Just looking at him with his thick wavy black hair, penetrating blue eyes, and rippling muscles makes me quiver. He’s not just eye candy though; Dimitri can act with such passion, he draws the audience in and transports them to another place and time. I cry every time I watch his last movie, which earned him a nomination, but not the Oscar.
The role I was auditioning for was for the female lead in his next film; not the best friend, but the lead! She was described as being a voluptuous woman, college age, who is vulnerable yet tough. That was me! I read the script fragment they wanted for the audition and it was an amazing and powerful scene. I memorized every syllable and practiced it ten different ways. I had never wanted a part so badly in my life, and now the time for the audition was finally here!
As I reached the executive offices of the studio, I checked my reflection in the mirrored windows. Crap! I looked like shit! I’d done my best to scrub off the heavy make-up I wore for club performances, and the results had left my face looking puffy. I reached into my handbag and quickly applied some powder to even out my skin tone. A quick brush of green eye shadow and some light mascara made my hazel eyes pop and a gentle swipe of pink lip gloss brightened my smile. My hair was hopeless and I had to leave it. At least my outfit looked good; a simple little black dress that showed just the right amount of cleavage to look sexy without seaming slutty, which was hard to do with tits as naturally huge as mine. The skirt of the dress was pleated in just the right way to minimize my full hips and round ass, and I had added a tasteful belt to accentuat
e my waist and make the whole ensemble look a little classier. My best pair of high heels, which I saved only for auditions, made my legs look long and lean. I was as close to sophisticatedly sexy as I was ever going to get.
The words of my acting coach rang in my ears as I strode into the waiting room and was confronted by fifty women who were half as big as I was, and twice as pretty. He always said, “It’s important to look confident during an audition. You’ll never get it if you appear desperate or defeated.”
“Name?” a skinny girl with wide glasses and a bored voice asked me from behind the receptionist desk.
“Avery Phillips,” I said, flashing my most confident smile.
“You’re late. I already called you back. When you were a no-show I let one of the walk-ins have your appointment.”
“Shit! Can I go next?” I could feel tears of disappointment stinging my eyes and I blinked furiously in an attempt to hold them back. I absolutely could not cry at the most important audition of my life, but if she turned me down I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.
“This role is hot, honey. The producer and director have been booked with back-to-back appointments for three days, and these walk-ins have been lined up for longer than that hoping to squeeze in an audition.”
“I know, but I barely missed the appointment by five minutes. I got stuck at work. I ran ten blocks to get here.” I knew it was unbecoming to beg, but what else could I do?
“Have a seat. If there’s time before the next scheduled audition, I’ll let you go in, but if not then you’re out of luck. Next time, be on time.”
“Hey!” A dozen women from the waiting room cried out in objection over her promise to squeeze me in, but I didn’t care. I had an appointment and they didn’t, so if I could get in next I didn’t feel bad about it one little bit. Now all I had to do was pray that the girl in there bombed so badly the producers kicked her out early. It was an awful thing to wish, and I did feel a little bad about that, but not enough not to do it.
Just then, as if in answer to my prayer, a skinny blonde actress stormed out of the executive’s office with tears streaming down her face. The receptionist looked pointedly at me, jerked her thumb at the door, and said, “You’re up, honey.”
Inside the executive suite I was greeted by a line of men sitting formidably in well-padded chairs, all wearing very expensive watches and tailored suits. One of them was none other than Dimitri Morrison himself, and I immediately felt my heart flutter. Next to him was the director, Claude VanHause. His last film won several Golden Globes. I recognized the balding man sitting next to him as the producer, and there were a few other men next to them who I guessed to be assistants of different types, since their suits were less expensive.
“So, tell us a little about yourself,” Claude VanHause requested. My tongue was so dry I could barely speak, but I did my best to tell him.
“My name is Avery Phillips, I’m twenty years old, and originally from Utah. I like to ride horses, sing in the shower, and I’ve been dancing since I was a kid.” This was my charming way of letting them know what skills I possessed without sounding like I was just reciting a list.
One of the assistants had fetched my résumé from the receptionist out front and Claude was flipping through it as I talked.
“It doesn’t look like you have much acting experience,” Claude stated and passed my résumé to Dimitri, who took his turn reading it. A small smile curled the corners of his mouth and I wondered if he liked me or was trying not to laugh.
“I’m a fresh face that audiences won’t have any preconceptions of,” I said in answer to the director’s comment, lifting my chin just a little. Never let them see you flinch! “I can act the hell out of any scene you give me, I’m willing to do nudity, and I’m not afraid to perform my own stunts. Give me a chance and you could be known as the director who discovered the hottest actress in Hollywood.”
Dimitri grinned at my bravado, and many of the other men did too. Claude looked at me stoically, narrowed his eyes, and said, “You say you can act the hell out this scene, okay, let’s see it.”
He handed me a copy of the script, but I didn’t need it. I’d already memorized it. I politely handed it back to him, leaning forward as I did so to give them a nice look down my cleavage without being obvious. I caught several of the executives giving me a good look, and felt a thrill of excitement when Dimitri suddenly had to adjust his trousers.
Feeling a boost of confidence from their reaction, I strode to the center of the room and played the role with everything I had. I was vulnerable, compelling, self-righteous, and angry. I used the techniques my acting coach had taught me to draw on my emotions with realism and make the audience believe I was actually living in the moment. It was the best audition performance I’d ever given. The line of executives was mesmerized and Dimitri himself actually applauded, but I had yet to impress the director and I could tell.
Just as the scene was coming to an end, I tripped on the leg of my chair and fell to the ground hard.
“Shit! I think I twisted my ankle!” I gasped in pain and clutched my wounded ankle with both hands.
“Get some ice!” Claude called out to one of his assistants, who scurried from the room. He knelt on the floor by my side and reached out to check my leg, but I wouldn’t let him touch me. My cheeks were flushed with embarrassment over the humiliating fall and my eyes were bleary with pain.
“Let me see how bad it is,” Claude said gently, and I could see that he was a director who really cared about people and not some executive asshole who thought he was above everyone.
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” I said with a tremulous voice. I tried to get up, but it was useless and I cried out in agony and fell back to the floor.
“Don’t move,” Claude insisted. “Get her a wheelchair! We’ll have to call an ambulance to take her to the hospital and have it X-rayed.”
Realizing this could quickly go too far, I suddenly stood up and wiggled my foot to show that it was perfectly fine. “Don’t call an ambulance! I’m okay. Everything is okay. The audition scene was great, but I wanted to show my full range and it didn’t include pain. As you can see, I can cry at will, perform falls, and evoke a wide range of emotions including sympathy. Put me in this film and I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
Dimitri laughed out loud, a brief blast of joy that only lasted a moment, while the other executives stared in shock. It was a risky move, but one that I hoped would pay off. One thing was for sure; I had given them an audition they would remember.
“Thank you, Miss Phillips. We have all your information and will contact your agent soon if we decide to bring you in for a callback.”
It was the first time a director hadn’t given me a flat No, thank you in months! That meant I had a shot! I wanted to squeal with joy and hug them, but instead I simply shook each gentleman’s hand. When I got to Dimitri, he gave my palm an extra squeeze that made me look up in surprise.
“Good job,” he said and then winked at me.
Oh my God! Dimitri Morrison liked my audition! This was incredible! I sailed on a cloud of happiness all the way back to the club. For the first time since I moved to L.A. I had a real shot at becoming an actress. No; of becoming a movie star!
Chapter Two
I was over thirty minutes late returning from my lunch hour by the time I made it back to the BBW Club. The manager, Jay, made sure to let me know he wasn’t happy about it by the sneer on his fat, ugly face. He was in his late forties, divorced, and could be found stealing drinks from behind the bar anytime he wasn’t on the microphone introducing the next dancer.
“You’re fucking late. If it happens again, you lose the Friday night slot and I bust you down to Monday mornings, you got me, Avery?”
“Yeah, I got you, Jay,” I said with unmasked contempt. He was the biggest asshole in the industry, but one of the few who hired dancers who didn’t look like broomsticks. I needed this job and I was lucky to have it, so we
both knew Jay could be as big a dick as he wanted and there was nothing I could really do about it.
He looked me up and down in a way that made me feel dirty and said, “Get changed. You’re on next.”
“Shit!” Jay knew I needed more time to redo my make-up and change clothes. He could put on a different dancer, but he was just doing this to fuck me up. Asshole! I ran into the dressing room and called for the girls to help me change. Shawnee pulled my dress off over my head while another girl, Candy, started spritzing me with body glitter.
“So, how was the big audition?” Shawnee asked, handing me a tear-away denim cowgirl skirt from off the rack, along with a break-away bra covered in fringe with two bright red stars on the nipples.
“Good. Really good, I think,” I said, applying heavy amounts of eyeliner and mascara as quickly as I could while Shawnee and Candy teased up my hair. “Dimitri Morrison was there and he said I did a good job.”
“No shit? That’s awesome. Now get out there, cowgirl!” Shawnee pushed a white cowboy hat on my head and shoved me toward the stage with a grin.
“Wait! My shoes!” I cried out, realizing I was still wearing my one and only pair of good heels. I pulled them off my feet and gave them to Shawnee while Candy handed me a pair of red cowgirl boots. I pulled them while I ran down the hall.
I could hear Jay giving the audience my big introduction from onstage. “Please give a hearty BBW welcome to our own luscious beauty from the ranches of Utah…Reba!”
It was the stage name I used to protect myself from the weirdos that sometimes came to the club. Plus, it helped me get into character and forget myself in the role. I sashayed onto the stage, swinging my hips with exaggerated sensuality as the music kicked into gear and made the place pulse with a raucous beat. A group of guys were just walking into the club, and I beckoned at them playfully. New blood always had more money on them than guys who had been giving it out all night long and I might be able to make some new fans.
Stripped Love (BBW Alpha Male Romance) Page 1
