Read Hollywood Hills 1 for Free Online Page A

stilled, but on the inside, our bodies went wild.
    When even our heartbeats had calmed, he gently—so gently—unwound the vine from around my wrists. It was only then, when my feet touched the fake jungle floor, that I became aware once more of the silent movie studio, with its cameras poised just beyond the jungle’s foliage.
    I giggled. “Next time, we’re going to have to film that.”
    He looked at me, eyebrows rising. “I don’t make those kinds of movies.”

Epilogue
     
     
    We rested together, as comfortable as we could be in the middle of a jungle set.
    “Are you okay?” he asked. “I didn’t… hurt you or anything?” This gentle, caring man was a far cry from the animal I’d been with minutes earlier.
    “I’m fine; more than fine,” I laughed. I wasn’t accustomed to the post-coital dance. What was a girl supposed to do in a situation like this? What girl had ever been in a situation like this?
    A muffled ringing got our attention; Archer rifled through his clothing to reach his phone. “I’m sorry. I have to take this,” he said with a grimace. I was graced with the sight of his perfect naked backside as he walked away, phone to his ear, and didn’t mind at all. Mmm.
    I began to get dressed, picking up strewn underwear and clothes before finally reaching for my tattered blouse. It was beside Archer’s jacket.
    I paused. A small tape was lying on the ground—it must have slipped from his pocket when we got undressed. I bent to pick it up, one eye in the direction I’d seen Archer walk.
    The original recording . My fingers trembled around it.
    I couldn’t . I’d made my decision—I didn’t care what they did to me. But did I care what they did to my mother?
    If only I hadn’t taken those photos.
     
    * * *
     
    It seemed funny, reflecting on the experience all these years after, but that sheet was what had first sparked doubt in my mind. Not the mattress, or the hotplate in the corner, or the rat droppings in the stairwell, but the sheet he’d hung behind me.
    But I was there, and he’d been going to make me a star. He’d taken a few shots of my face, tilted in different directions, looking out the window, on and on. Then he had me sit on the floor, and took photos of me there, too.
    “Okay, now without the clothes.” He’d sounded so casual, so matter-of-fact.
    “Excuse me?” I asked, no longer caring about sounding cool. “Without my clothes? Which clothes?”
    He peered at me from above his camera. “All of them, sweetheart.” My jaw fell open, and his brow furrowed. “Honey, this is how it’s done. I thought you were a professional.”
    “I… I am a professional,” I stuttered. “I’ve just never worked with a photographer who asked me to strip down.”
    “That’s probably why you aren’t in a movie yet,” he remarked, laughing. “Trust me, this is how it goes. Everybody does this.”
    And I’d believed him. I really had.
    When I got home I’d showered in water so scalding it had turned my skin deep red and left the bathroom full of billowing steam. When I’d visited the studio the next day to demand he destroy the photos—especially the ones with the props—it had been empty. Needless to say, I never became a star.
    Fast forward to a month ago, standing in a room full of blue cigar smoke. The Janus executive had gotten right to the point. “Josephine, I have a job for you which falls somewhat… outside your general duties.”
    “I don’t work for Janus anymore.” My voice had been full of spite. “You’re about to repossess my house, remember?”
    “Now, now. No need to be so dramatic.”
    “Dramatic? Dramatic!” I wanted to scream, but brought my voice back under control. “I signed that contract in good faith. My mother needed a house and you said you’d help. Then six months ago, you fire me and my repayments suddenly triple? ”
    “The GFC, my dear. You know how it goes.”
    “Yes, I do. The rich get richer, and people like my mother and