Random Revenge

by William Michaels

  He put his camera on the bench out of sight and went to the bathroom as an excuse to get a better look at her, timing it so they’d have to pass through a narrow aisle between the tables. She was focused on the tray she was carrying, so Lenny was able to check her out as she approached. She was even hotter up close, even in that ugly uniform. Nice cheekbones, her eyes just a little too big, a small sexy overbite, pert breasts straining against her top—she probably had tightened that as well. Probably five seven, too short to model, but just right for an actress; she’d be able to work with the shorter actors who the film people always had a problem shooting next to taller women. But it wasn’t one thing about her, it was the package, she had it, and she knew it, and she used it.

  What the fuck was she doing in Marburg?

  Maybe she just needed her big break. Maybe she just needed Lenny G.

  In the tight space between the tables they had to turn to face each other, Lenny taking it all in, her faint hint of perfume, the in vogue no excuse eyebrows, her boobs pointing at him, drawing his eyes down.

  “Excuse me,” she said, with just an edge to it, the way you’d say it if it was the other person who was in the way.

  “Sorry,” muttered Lenny, her aura overwhelming him. It was those damn tits, she used them like a weapon, aimed at him.

  Their eyes locked for a second. She had amazing eyes, glittering, maybe with a little annoyance at her job, but alive, eyes that would convey emotion without speech, eyes that would reach out from a photo, promising anything, any man looking at those eyes would read into them whatever he wanted.

  She seemed to look right through him, and then she was gone, and Lenny stumbled, hoping she hadn’t noticed. He ogled her as she walked away, a walk that said follow me.

  Lenny didn’t need his camera, every pore of her face was locked in his mind, every strand of hair. And those eyes . . .

  He’d also seen her nametag. Melanie.

  Lenny forgot all about the bathroom and went back to his table, trying not to stare at Melanie, but failing miserably. He had to find out her story, she could be the one.

  Leah returned with his drink, Lenny reluctantly redirecting his eyes to her. Leah was actually prettier than Melanie, in a technical sense, but Leah paled in comparison, even though she was taller, had better skin, nicer hair, big blue eyes. Living proof that it took more than beauty to have what it takes.

  Leah set his drink down. “I have a few minutes to talk, you’re my only other table.”

  “Sure,” said Lenny, magnanimously. “Are you new here, too? I noticed you didn’t have a name tag.”

  “I just started. They are making one for me.”

  It was one of Lenny’s favorite approaches, find something in common with a woman, build some rapport, but then subtly make it clear he was more powerful than they were. Truth be told, words by themselves hadn’t worked that much in LA. Although he had got his first piece of ass this way, later in life than he deserved, but it was hard to get in a girl’s pants when you lived at home all the way through community college . . .

  “You working between shoots?” asked Lenny.

  “I haven’t actually had any since I moved here. I couldn’t afford a place in Boston, but this is close enough, plus there’s the film festival. I’m hoping to get a job in the office there, meet some people.”

  “That’s a good idea, for a start. But a lot of other girls will be doing the same thing.”

  “You think?” Leah looked crushed. “I thought you said you just moved here?”

  Lenny nodded sagely. “It’s the same all over, even in LA. Actors, singers, models, anyone trying to make it, they need to get noticed, you know? So they try to get jobs in the agencies, the offices. Just a portfolio isn’t enough, I should know.”

  Leah twisted her hair, an indication of confusion, not guile. “What works?”

  “You got to stand out from the crowd. You have to be willing to do anything to make it.” Lenny put just the slightest stress on the anything, not overplaying it, just to get her mind going that way.

  “I am,” said Leah. “I know it’s not easy, I’d be willing to volunteer in an agency office, do some free modeling. Whatever it takes.”

  Lenny tried not to roll his eyes. A hundred other girls would be trying the same thing, and much more, doing some partying, offering up their bodies. He actually hadn’t seen it, but he knew it must happen, how else would those slimy agents and producers get the women they all had hanging on their arms?

  Lenny leaned over to her, sharing a secret. “I don’t tell many people this, but I like seeing someone like you make it, up against all those women who don’t play fair. Usually it’s not so much being lucky as managing the process. Making your dreams a reality. Taking control.”

  Leah stepped closer to the table, her voice low. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, the right photo, it gets around, goes viral, just like that,” Lenny snapped his fingers, “and all the right people see you, people who aren’t likely to be picking up a circular you happened to be in.”

  “What kind of photo? You don’t mean something nude, do you?” Leah backed away a step.

  “No, no,” assured Lenny. “Nothing like that. There’s plenty of that for free on the internet, you don’t want to be in that camp. Besides, you are too pretty.” He glanced around, caught Melanie looking at him, her eyes shining across the room, making him lose his chain of thought. Was she checking him out?

  Shivers ran up both his legs. Melanie had reached across to him, touching him with her eyes. He sensed a connection to her, even more than when they had brushed past one another. Something was fated to happen, he knew it.

  “Lenny?”

  Leah shifted position, blocking his view of Melanie, forcing him back to the present, picking up his spiel. “Yeah, like I was saying, not a nude. You just need to be in the right photo, with the right people, you know, someone famous, maybe an actor here for the summer theater. A picture like that will end up in the Hollywood Reporter, the Los Angeles Times even.”

  “I’ve seen those pictures,” said Leah. “But I don’t know any of those people.”

  “I can help you out there,” said Lenny. Not that he knew any of those people either, but it was amazing what creative cropping and a little photo manipulation could do. Position Leah just right and it would appear she was walking arm and arm with the next Matt Damon. No reputable magazine would publish it, but Leah wouldn’t know that. Not that he would bother. Leah wasn’t worth the effort, Melanie sure, but Leah . . . he’d just string her along, get her to give it up for him a few times, then move on, maybe use her to get a little info on Melanie.

  Leah was staring like she just met Santa. “Would you do that for me?”

  “We can talk about it. What time do you get off?”

  “Ten.”

  “How about a drink? There’s a place just up the street, Stripes.”

  “I’ve seen it, but I’ve never been there.”

  “It’s good,” said Lenny, having scoped it out. “Not a dive or anything. I can meet you there, tell you more about how things work.”

  “Okay. Hey, do you want to order something to eat?”

  Lenny had blown his daily meal money on the scotch. And he’d need cash for tonight, although maybe he could get Leah to think paying for their drinks would be her way of saying thanks for his mentoring. “I ate a late lunch. How about just some fries and a salad?” Immediately regretted it, she’d think he was gay, ordering a salad.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Leah almost trotted off, a new spring in her step, seeing her chance at a big break. Lenny would normally have been wired, he had a live one on the line, and she was actually better looking than any woman he had been with, not counting the handjob he got from that redhead Cinder, who he later learned started to charge for them.

  As soon as Leah was away from the table he sought out Melanie, and damn if she wasn’t still staring at him even as she was getting a
drink order filled at the bar. As Leah put in the order Melanie drifted over to her, the two women’s heads together, Leah animated, nodding toward Lenny’s table, sharing her good fortune.

  Melanie looked over at him, and again Lenny felt the connection. Melanie would cut Leah out so she could get in on the action. His action. He started thinking of a different set of lines, he instinctively knew he’d need a better rap for Melanie. Melanie would be the kind of girl who would know what she would have to do, he wouldn’t have to work up to it so much, not after seeing how she worked her customers, using her sexuality. He could just lay it out, the price she’d have to pay for fame.

  He wouldn’t even have to slip her a roofie to get her in bed.

  Melanie Upton half listened to Leah’s breathless chatter, a story she’d heard before, some slimeball making the moves, pretending he could help a girl out, blah blah blah, all bullshit. She could have finished Leah’s sentences, even while not paying attention, her eyes now locked on the guy who called himself Lenny G. She’d been dealing with guys like him since high school, ever since her drama teacher had suggested that if she just came to his house for some private tutoring he’d show her how to connect with the audience just by pursing her lips, a silent way to communicate emotion. Even at fifteen, Melanie had known what part of his body he wanted her lips to be emoting.

  When Leah got to the part about Lenny taking staged pictures, Melanie had heard enough. It was one thing to hit on a girl, shit, she made half her tips letting guys think they were getting somewhere with her, but that was all play, even the guys knew what she was doing, it was a game. But taking advantage of Leah was something else. Melanie had steeled herself for the big time, and could handle herself, just as she had handled her drama teacher and the football coach and the boys in drama college. But Leah was so naïve she’d get taken in even by a would-be photographer.

  “Let me help you with the order,” said Melanie, picking up the salad, not giving Leah a chance to protest. She led Leah to the table, the poor girl so innocent that if Lenny had been for real, Melanie could have stolen him away and Leah wouldn’t have seen it coming. Melanie kept her eyes on Lenny the whole time, watching him lock on her, clueless he was over his head. His clothing was as artfully planned as hers was, but she could pull it off. He just looked like he was in a costume, and no one had told him that there was no masquerade party. He didn’t look hot, just out of place. He was wasting his time, no one in Marburg knew hot, not the way she did. She’d studied it, she knew, she felt it, she didn’t have to put it on. She’d get to the big time, blow by the Leahs like they were standing still, leapfrog over the Lenny G’s.

  At the table she gave Lenny a little look, getting his attention, and then she dropped the salad platter on the table with a bang, making him jump. “Whoa, there, big boy, no need to get excited over some iceberg.”

  The guy looked at her, already on the defensive, his hand over his camera, protective. Melanie pushed on. “Leah tells me you’ve worked in LA.”

  Leah, setting down the fries, chiming in, like she’d known Lenny for more than a few minutes, “He’s got a lot of experience, for his age.”

  Melanie gave Lenny a good once over, making him squirm. His hand came up to his face, subconsciously hiding his ridiculous attempt at a scruffy look, his streaky brown hair in some kind of tangled mess, a homemade styled mop. A small scab glared from his left ear, probably a self inflicted piercing attempt. “Looks pretty young to me, what are you, twenty five?”

  “Older. And I’m from LA, I didn’t just work there.”

  “Yeah? If you’re such a hotshot, why are you here? Run out of money, have to come home to live with your mama?”

  “I told you, I’m from LA.”

  Melanie gave him the hands on hip look, the I don’t believe a word you’re saying stance. “What’s the camera for? Looking to score some upskirts? All the waitresses wear pants, you’re out of luck.”

  “What’s an upskirt?” asked Leah. She paused. “Yuk, is that for real?”

  “She’s just playing with us,” said Lenny, a smile frozen on his lips. He turned to Melanie. “I don’t do that kind of photography. I shoot big names.”

  “Like who?”

  Lenny reeled off a list of actresses, Melanie knowing right away any dimwit could print photos off the internet, pass them off as their own shots.

  “I do my thing, I can even help someone along, you know, the pic goes viral.”

  Melanie didn’t fall for it, the unspoken promise; she used that ammo herself on her customers. What was different was that she could deliver the goods if she wanted, unlike Lenny. It wasn’t that she was oblivious to the reality; a good photo could put her in the limelight. It would be a shortcut to her current plan, hanging out with the up and coming actors from LA who were out for the summer theater. It’s why she had this job. They’d end up here sooner or later, even if they partied in Boston.

  Melanie took her hand off her hip, pretending to be taken in a little, opening herself up, sending out the vibe that she was listening, that Lenny’s rap was working on her. “You could do that? Get a photo to go viral? For Leah?”

  “Sure. For anyone,” said Lenny, perking up. “If they have what it takes.”

  Both of them knowing they were only talking about Melanie now, Leah was out of it, if Melanie wanted her to be. Leah was nice, but Melanie wouldn’t hesitate for a second to run Leah over if it would in fact get her to LA, to a big time gig, but Lenny wasn’t going to be the one to get her there, no matter what he was peddling. Melanie grazed her lip with her tongue, telling her mouth to hint at a smile—her drama teacher had been right about that, at least—and leaned a little over the table, watching Lenny’s eyes pulled like magnets toward her chest. She waited until he was pumped up; the higher they felt the harder they fell.

  “It must be so hard,” she cooed, “deciding where to point your—camera. Deciding who to help get over the top.”

  Lenny smiled stiffly, a half frown, probably not sure if he was being made fun of, but being a guy, still responding to her implications.

  “I can handle it,” he said.

  “I’m sure you can,” said Melanie, turning and walking away, pulling Leah along with her, not bothering to hide her laughter. Melanie was going to make sure that the only one who would be handling Lenny would be himself.

  Once clear of the other customers, Melanie turned to Leah. “Maybe your mother already told you about the birds and the bees. Time for me to tell you about the snakes and the foxes.”

  Lenny watched the two women walk away, feeling good, that had gone well. He hadn’t been imagining that connection with Melanie, it had been real. She felt it too, it was like Leah wasn’t there. Melanie had pretended to be tough with him, showing off for Leah, signaling Lenny that she had an edge. It was all an act, Melanie was just trying to get noticed. Noticed by him. Even that crack about living with his mother. Although he hadn’t admitted it was the truth, only a woman with some kind of psychic connection to him would have made that crazy thought pop into her head, she couldn’t really believe someone as cool as Lenny lived at home with his mother.

  Melanie had understood his secret communication to her, she got it, she knew what he could do for her. It would take more than one night at a bar and a few drinks, but she knew the game, and once Lenny proved to her how he could help, she’d be so grateful she’d do anything. Melanie was going to make it big, he was sure of it. Even if the monetary payoff didn’t come now for him, it would later. He’d have photos of her before her success, the rags loved those, the before and after pictures, before the plastic surgery, before the celebrity wedding. Before Melanie met Lenny G.

  And he’d get laid. Get to see her ass out of those man pants . . .

  Lenny grabbed his camera and managed to get two shots of Melanie as she walked away, breaking his rule about booty shots, because someday, that ass was going to be famous.

  CHAPTER 2

  Hot and a little swe
aty, Melanie stuffed her waitress uniform in a laundry bag and shoved it in her locker. Her shift had been longer than necessary because her bitch manager, Lyn, set the day schedule from 11-7—who the fuck did that, anyway? Leaving at seven meant missing your tips from the early dinner crowd, so everyone on the shift stayed late, which was probably just what Lyn and the owner wanted so they could avoid hiring a few more servers. Just another example of the bullshit she had to deal with.

  Any other night she would have plenty of time to go home, shower, and change, but tonight she wanted to get to the Marquee early. A location shoot was planned for tomorrow morning, with makeup call at six a.m., so if Jason was going to hit the club he would do it early. This might be her one shot to catch him.

  Melanie hung a short, black knit dress—her emergency outfit—on the employee bathroom door. Something silky would have been better, but it would wrinkle like hell in the locker, and someone would probably steal it anyway. Melanie suspected Lyn rummaged through the employee stuff.

  She splashed water on her face, pulled down her hair, and put on fresh makeup. A little more than usual, it was dark in the Marquee. The bathroom’s fluorescent lights weren’t flattering, if she could make herself look half decent here she’d be okay. On the wrong side of twenty five, if Melanie didn’t get a break soon she never would, so every one of these potential hookups was a big deal.

  She slithered into the dress, adjusting it to show as much cleavage as she had, wondering again if she should get a boob job, it was basically a toll these days, tits and tucks and veneers. Who would have thought that a woman in the prime of her life would need so much work? For movies and even television, women had to be perfect, look just so . . . which of course made them all look pretty much the same.