Body Parts (Rye & Claire 1) (6 page)

When she found the passage
that stated she’d be paid for each full shoot, she made up her mind to
finish out the day, no matter what. After all, she’d need all the money
she could get in order to get back home.

She sipped her coffee and wondered what Jan’s reaction would be that night when she told her she was quitting.

She picked up the contract,
so angry over letting herself end up like this that her hands shook, but
as her thoughts turned to her friend, her anger changed to concern,
then speculation. What if Jan was in trouble and couldn’t call? What if
she had quit and was driving down to pick her up? Crystal took a deep
breath to calm her imagination. After all it hadn’t been that long, what
could happen in a few days? A pounding on the door rocked the tiny
trailer. “Report to the director.” Cinching her robe, she placed the
contract back in the cardboard file box, returned it to the cabinet, and
walked down the narrow hall.

She inpected her makeup in
the tiny bathroom mirror and said, “I’ll finish out this day no matter
what.” Running a brush through her air and starting a new stick of gum,
she continued, “Then it’s back to the motel and if Jan hasn’t left a
message, I’ll go to the police tomorrow morning. But she’ll call.”

* * *

Von Seagram picked up the
loud hailer. “Break everyone. Ten minutes then back and ready to finish
today’s shoot.” He handed the loud hailer to the stage manager and
walked off the set.

Crystal walked to the corner
of the nearest set and stopped not sure what was happening except that
the director was talking to someone she’d never seen before. He was tall
with olive skin and jet-black hair slicked back, but neat and trimmed.
His clothes were expensive, his manner restrained.

“I’m telling you that she needs to come with me now,” Simms said. Looking around he dropped his voice.

“And I’m telling you that
there are no other girls who can do this. If she doesn’t perform, I
walk,” Von Seagram screamed, veins sticking out on his neck like cables.

Simms pumped his hands up and
down, like he was trying to slow traffic. “I’ve come all the way down
here to pick her up,” Simms said, dropping his voice in further hope of
calming the agitated director.

Von Seagram took a deep breath. “All I’m asking is for a few hours so I can finish this shot, a couple hours at the most.”

Simms continued looking around. “Ok, two hours. You’ve got exactly two hours, not a minute more.”

Simms relented only because
he had to be back up north in time for an extraction satellite linked to
the customer; he’d be operating live. If he couldn’t take Crystal now,
he’d have to find another way to get her to the clinic.

All Crystal could tell was
that the director was mad at the stranger. She hadn’t heard her name
mentioned, but was sure they were talking about her.

The director waved at her. “Come here, doll. You just got the starring roll.”

Her heart beat faster when she realized he was waving at her. She knew what that meant.

“You got your lines down, doll?”

She glanced down at the
script, at her three lines. She was to play the mistress. The jilted
husband was going to knock at the door of her apartment and when she
answered, wrapped in a towel and immediately seeing how upset he was,
she would say, “Lets see if I can help you forget her.” She would drop
to her knees right there at the door. He would then help her to her feet
and carry her to the bed where she would say, “How would you like it?”
At which time he would guide her into a doggy position ending with a
tight shot of his climax. Crystal would then respond with her final
line, “Oh that was really nice.”

Her stomach began to lurch as she re-read her three lines.

“C’mon, doll, what’s the hold up? Drop the robe and get on your mark. Time’s money.”

The director’s assistant guided her to the chalked x, taking her robe and script, and handing her a towel.

Conner Roddy played the part
of the dejected husband, and had been acting in porn movies for nearly
ten years. He possessed classic good looks and at six feet, weighed a
lean 170 pounds.

He was a porn director’s dream, able to sustain an erection despite the lights, techs and two or three takes.

Crystal had supposedly just
stepped out of the shower. When the director shouted action she was to
move across the floor as though heading for the closet, interrupted by
the knock at the door.

As she began to walk she wished she had a stick of gum to settle her stomach.

“Knock, knock, knock.”

She turned and took the two steps necessary to reach the door, grasped the knob and opened the door.

She cooed as her pretend lover leaned forward to kiss her.

“It’s Vicky,” Conner said. “She, she’s left me.”

As Conner stepped across the threshold, Crystal dropped to her knees.

She gasped out her first line, “Let’s see if I can help you forget her,” closed her eyes and prayed he would be quick.

“Cut!” the director shouted.
“Hey, doll, you got something in your eye? What’s it going to look like
if your doing your lover with your eyes closed? Close the door, Con;
get on your mark. Doll, pick up the towel, we’ll take it from the knock
at the door. Remember eyes open, big smile.

She cursed herself for having to do it again, but wondered how she was going to smile with a mouth full of…

“Action!” Von Seagram shouted.

“Knock, knock, knock.”

She opened the door, once again cooing as Conner leaned in for the kiss, then stepped across the threshold.

“It’s Vicky, she, she’s left me.”

Crystal dropped to her knees, eyes open. Fumbled with his belt and zipper, extracting his…

“Cut!” Con, baby. First
the kiss, then your line…then step over the threshold. Back on your
mark, close the damn door. Doll, pick up the towel. We’ll take it from
the knock on the door. Everybody ready? Let’s get it right this time.
Action!”

On the third take, the
director caught Crystal fumbling with Conner’s zipper. Take four, he
looked bored. Take five, Crystal was making a face. By the sixth take
Crystal didn’t care any more, just wanting it to be over. As Conner
carried her to the bed, a big four poster, she had no idea what she was
in for. He gently laid her on the bed on her back, cue for her second
line.

“How would you like it?”

She thought it would be like the time with Rudy, her third lover who liked different positions. Not so.

Without a word Conner kneeled
down on the bed placing one hand between her thighs and the other on
her side, practically flipping her onto her stomach, her cue to come up
onto her hands and knees. Completely out of sync — she felt as if she
were moving in slow motion while he was moving at full speed. He was
very well endowed, and for once she was thankful for the director’s
interruptions, bringing Conner to a halt while the camera moved in for a
different angle.

Finally, as her already
sore knees began to suffer burns from sliding back and forth on the
sheets, he finished, cue for her third line. Still on her hands and
knees Crystal looked over her shoulder. “Oooh, that was nice.”

“Cut! That’s a wrap. Everyone back on the set tomorrow, eight o’clock sharp.”

Crystal was off the bed,
snatching up her robe as she stormed off the set headed for the trailer.
Twenty minutes later she was in her rental car headed back to her
motel.

Chapter Eight

Rye stood behind Paul Casey
, the rope wrapped around his waist.

Suddenly, Paul made a lunge at the tripod. “It’s slipping!”

Rye quickly tied off the rope
at the last stake. “Christ, it’s not holding her weight. Paul we need a
board that will reach across the hole to keep the tripod from falling
in on her.”

Paul limped to the barn as fast as he could.

Moments after he disappeared
through the barn doors, Rye looked on in horror as the legs of the
tripod slipped and the center portion that supported the rope dropped
the nearly five feet to ground level.

The harness allowed Claire to
descend in a sitting position, the rope coming down in front of her
face attached to the ring located near her abdomen. When the rope went
slack, her legs straightened and she dropped like a stone. She attempted
to spread eagle as she fell, hoping to span the hole and at least slow
her fall. But she continued to plummet feet first. When the rope finally
stopped her fall, Claire felt a sharp pain in her stomach, and then
blacked out. Her limp body finally came to a stop with all her limbs
hanging down, bent backwards.

Somewhere in the depths of
Claire’s unconscious, Clarice reached the mine entrance before her
pursuers, but the iron-gate that led to the Star Mine’s elevator was
locked. Frantically, she looked over her shoulder, the three young men
had slowed to a walk when they saw she had no place to go. Shuffling to
the right she tried the handle on a little door. When it flew open she
nearly fell over but quickly recovered and dove into the dumbwaiter,
slamming the iron door behind her. Rolling onto her back Clarice saw in
the dim light that an iron latch had fallen into place. Lurching forward
she applied all her weight to hold it. She could feel someone on the
outside trying the handle.

“Shit, the little bitch has locked herself in,” the leader of the three said.

The taller one stood in front of a small wooden box mounted just above Clarice’s hiding place.

“Hey, look at this.”

He broke open the door to the box, revealing two buttons, one red, marked up, one blue, marked down.

He leaned down until his face
was next to the little door, and shouted to be sure Clarice could hear.
“Hey guys, since she won’t come out, let’s send her to the bottom of
the mine.” They all laughed as he straightened up and pressed the blue
button.

The dumbwaiter that carried
tools and sometimes explosives to the various levels of the mine had its
own shaft. Designed to descend at breakneck speed, it never was meant
to carry human cargo.

Clarice plunged into darkness and felt her stomach lurch with the sudden drop.

* * *

Paul ran as fast as his
hip would allow. He carried a twelve-foot, four-by-four across his
shoulders. Rye ran to meet him, grabbing the post. Together they lugged
it to the hole, and shoved it beneath the center ring of the tripod.
Suddenly there was a loud metallic sound as the tripod completely
fractured and the four-by four took all the weight.

“Claire, are you alright? The tripod collapsed but the rope is secure,” Rye yelled.

No answer.

Rye cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Claire.”

No answer.

Paul came around next to Rye. “You think she’s alright?”

Rye sat back on his haunches.
“She could be in trouble. Claire has claustrophobia, something happened
to her when she was a little girl…God, I just don’t know.”

Reaching out, Rye grabbed the rope and began to shake it. “Claire, talk to me, Claire!”

Her back pinched out a needle
of pain and Claire opened her eyes. She was spinning and nauseous.
Everything was out of focus; a yellow arch of light illuminated a muddy
wall. Claire’s disorientation suddenly fell away. She reached out for
the rope and began to pull herself upright, hand over hand. Grasping the
rope with both hands she gave one final yank and pulled herself back
into a sitting position.

When she finally summoned the
strength to look up she could see an arm stretched out to the rope, and
heard someone calling her name.

“I’m OK. Rye, Paul.”

Rye breathed a sigh of relief. “Hang on, we’re going to pull you up.”

She was still nauseous, her
back ached and the memory of being locked in that tiny dumbwaiter in the
mine was still in the back of her head. “No, keep lowering.”

Rye and Paul looked at each other. “What do you think?” Paul said.

Rye was looking back down the well. “Keep lowering.”

Paul positioned himself at the last stake, the rope wrapped around his waist. Rye was half way between Paul and the hole.

For the first fifteen feet there wasn’t any change in the walls, then slowly the sides narrowed and the mud gave way to stone.

Her progress stopped. Claire
held the rope with an iron grip. When she looked up, a heavily
silhouetted head was peering over the edge of the hole. She was
reassured by Rye’s voice.

“You’re about twenty feet down, what do you see?”

She paused and looked down;
there was still nothing for her light to illuminate. “The walls are
closing in, and are solid stone. There’s still no sign of Amy.”

She looked back up, but the head was gone, and she began to descend again.

She smelled it first, and
then the temperature dropped. Reaching into the little change pocket of
her jeans she pulled out a penny. Holding the coin away from her body
she dropped it and began counting, she’d reached twenty before she heard
a splash.

“Shit! Hold up,” Claire
shouted. She kept descending. “Rye, Paul, hold up.” Her progress came to
a sudden halt. Claire squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath until
the bouncing stopped. When she looked up, the head looking into the hole
was tiny.

“Everything OK down there?”

Claire could hear the fear in her husband’s voice.

“Fine. I’ve got water about twenty feet below.” She was interrupted by a tiny voice.

“Aunt Claire?”

“Yes, yes it’s Aunt Claire. Amy honey, are you OK?”

Claire strained, listening for a response until her ears rang.

“Amy, where are you? I can’t see you. Can you see me?”

“I’m muddy. Are you on the rope?”

Claire began turning her head left and right, scanning the wall around her with the helmet light.

Wait a minute, Claire thought. Am I on the rope? She can see the rope. She’s above me!