I want to say hello to someone whom I haven’t seen in the longest time.
Several years ago, some chick contacted me at the studio to let me know that she didn’t like the sound of one of the slogans we were running on the air and that she wanted to come down and re-record it for us.
I told her to come right over.
When she arrived, she was, quite simply, the hottest chick out of hundreds over the years who had ever shown up at any studio anywhere. Ever.
When she got there, we totally forgot about why she came and I engaged her in a conversation that led to an appointment for me to come over to her apartment in Sherman Oaks.
The minute I was inside her front door, she immediately started macking on me and I responded by groping every one of those sweet curves.
Suddenly, she stopped me.
“Do I have to have sex with you to get you to help me with my career?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Otherwise, what’s my incentive to help you? There are plenty of other people who also want me to help them.”
So, she had sex with me. That night. Other nights. Many other nights.
And I found little things for her to do. Nothing all that critical to our success. But I gave her enough to do that she showed up many times, often when I didn’t expect it, came in, threw me up against the wall or down on the floor or the sofa or the floor, and rode me hard.
Until one day, she finally stopped. She told me, “I never want to see you again. Ever!”
Over a year later, she called me out of the blue to ask if I had any work for her.
“I don’t,” I replied.
“I’m good, don’t you think? We did a lot of work together and it was good! Why won’t you hire me?”
“Plenty of people are good,” I responded. “But since you told me you never wanted to see me again, what’s my incentive to do anything with you?”
“I can’t believe you’re being like that!” she protested.
“Why not?” I told her. “You understood the terms when you asked me if you had to have sex with me in order to get help with your career and I told you ‘yes.’ Once you agreed to the terms, we had a deal. Once you stopped providing your services, I stopped providing my services. Ask your new boyfriend to help you with your career!”
She promptly hung up the phone.
She’s a lot older now and her career appears to have had little fits and starts. I see her in the occasional Spanish-language TV commercial playing a mom, the worst nightmare of someone who, as a still-aspiring actress back when she was just south of 30, used to tell me that she “could still play a teenager.” She used to fantasize out loud to me about how she wanted to work for directors such as Ridley Scott and Woody Allen. Now, she’s in her mid-forties and her dream of being the hot ingenue actress has apparently faded away.
Do I feel badly about this? After all, I could have helped her a lot more, as I have others.
I don’t. It’s not my fault. I didn’t owe her a thing.
After all, it was no more than prostitution, just a different kind of prostitution. No money changes hands. In order to get a leg up, a chick puts both legs up.
And I got a piece of her when everyone desperately wanted a piece.
The sex for career assistance concept was hers, not mine, for God’s sake.
What would you have done?