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    To: Jack < [email protected] >
    Time: 4:00 pm
     
    I’ll be on the set Monday morning. That’s
when I’ll show you schoolgirls how to handle a couple of women.
Sheesh. You’re embarrassing me with all the whining.

Chapter Three
     
     
    MICHAEL coasted into a parking spot with the
new 4 Doors Around CD up full volume to test the speakers of his
brand-spankin’ new silver Thunderbird convertible. Satisfied that
the Bose speakers were adequate for his driving needs, he stepped
out, locked her up, and then looked around.
    The Downey lot was literally teeming with
women. Tall and short; reds, blondes, and brunettes; long legs,
great racks, and fabulous derrieres. This film was truly a gift
from the gods of Guy Universe—Michael was just glad he’d been able
to talk his partners in T.A. into it.
    They hadn’t wanted to do it at first—what
with their extreme sport adventure business taking off so well, the
four of them had more on their plates than they could handle. They
were already coordinating two action films this year in addition to
having booked a half dozen extreme adventures with the extremely
wealthy, and the prospect of adding a third film to the mix seemed
too much. But Michael reminded them that in addition to the
compressed schedule—the studio didn’t want a long shoot on
location, given the number of actors and costs involved—there would
be twenty to thirty women. Twenty to thirty good-looking women.
Women who were, relatively speaking, available.
    “Why do you want to do it?” Jack demanded
the day they had discussed it over a plate of nachos and a pitcher
of beer. “It’s not like you a need a shot at twenty or so women to
hook up with one. You have them hanging all over you as it is.”
    “Yeah, right,” Michael said with a snort.
“That’s why I’ve been available for so much of the extreme sports
work lately. They’re not hanging off me. And besides, I just really
like women. Don’t you?”
    “I like women a lot, only one-on-one,”
Cooper interjected. “Women in a pack? Forget it—they’re awful. They
gang up on you, and you don’t have a chance.”
    “Okay, forget it then,” Michael said with a
shrug. “I just thought it would be fun to hang out with twenty
good-looking women for a few weeks.”
    No one said anything for a long moment. For
a bunch of guys who didn’t have the sort of job that afforded them
the opportunity to hang out with women that often, it proved to be
an argument none of them could resist—they signed up for the
film.
    Michael’s only regret was that he had earned
the lead on the Costa Rica trip and had missed the first week of
boot camp. That was one week of being surrounded by women he’d
never get back, and if there was one thing Michael Raney loved, it
was to be surrounded by women.
    There was no time like the present, and as
soon as he got through this studio budget meeting Jack had asked
him to attend, Michael was ready to go play.
    He started across the
parking lot, making eye contact with as many women as he could, who
in turn gave him a smile, a smile, a smile . . . oh, ouch . No smile there.
That was a definite glare from ah . . . Linda. Yeah, Linda, that
was her name. Linda . . . the production assistant, right, right. Or was it
Lindsey? He couldn’t really recall much about her, other than that
he’d been involved with her for a very short time once. She didn’t
have the looks most guys wanted, but Michael had liked her a lot in
the beginning—she had a wry wit. Unfortunately, it turned out that
she was funnier in a weird way than a ha-ha way, and he hadn’t
pursued it.
    And as she was still staring daggers at him,
Michael looked in the opposite direction.
    Well, shit.
    He knew that one, too. Jill, perky Jill with
the brand-new, perky breasts. Nice perky breasts. Nice perky
breasts attached to someone with stalker-like tendencies.
    Okay, so there might be a couple of rough
spots in this dream gig, but nothing to worry