Risen Star – Political Intrigue

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Marilyn (Maz) Foster was sitting up in my bed, her back to the bed head and I was lying across the bed with my head in her lap, looking up at her. Until a few minutes before I had been lying face down but when my objective had been achieved, I turned over. “You’ve always been really good at that.” “Thanks, Maz. One tries. Fancy a glass of wine? “Marvellous.” I got up and walked to my kitchen. I was taking a month off after working on location in Singapore for a tv series in which I played a homicidal banker. It was all sharp suits and heels and a lot of blood. I swear Flick Caterham (my agent) gets me work like this deliberately. Anyway, I’d finished the series and was home in my London apartment and Maz was rehearsing for a West End show so, as often happened, she and I had got together for what she liked to call ‘a little catch-up.’ I slipped back into bed beside her and handed her a glass and rested back against the headboard. “Oh,” said Maz. “I was meaning to tell you. You’ll never guess who I bedded when I was in Seattle.” “I didn’t know you’d been to Seattle?” “A screen test. Got the job, thanks for the congratulations. Anyway, guess.” “Judi Dench?” “Judy Hollander.” “Judy Hollander? She’s not gay. Bugger me she’s positively the Doris Day of our times. Pure as the driven. You winding me up?” “Not at all. She is deliciously kinky and very, very enthusiastic. She’s gone in the little red book.” The little red book was a term Maz used for those who merited a repeat performance. “Kinky?” “Yes, particularly about fisting.” “Fisting? You do that?” “Not until then.” “Who was the fistee?” “She was of course. What do you think?” “What was it like? For you I mean?” She thought about it for a few moments. “Well,” she said eventually, “it was nice and warm.” I spluttered and spilled a little wine. “Nice and warm?” I began to laugh. Max did too and I kept saying Escort ankara ‘nice and warm’ through my laughter until we were both cackling inanely and laughing until it hurt. As so often happened with me and Maz our hilarity led to another bout of energetic sex. Mother nature’s way of shutting us up, I guess. ~~ My agent, Felicity (Flick) Caterham had asked me, well commanded me to attend at her office. Her new right-hand woman was what Flick’s sister, my best mate Lilly would have called exotic. She was tall, extremely beautiful, Indian and built like a wet dream, well, my wet dreams anyway. Rita, for such was her name, told me to proceed into Flick’s inner sanctum where Flick, to my amazement, stood up, came around her desk and kissed me. “You’re firing me?” Strictly speaking, I was the client, she the agent but as so often in these relationships, the agent is the leader because it is she who gets the work. “Cynic. No, I am not ‘letting you go’ I am showing my genuine affection and now we’ve got that out of the way, to business.” Business was interrupted by Rita arriving with a tray of glasses and an ice bucket with champagne. “It’s 10 in the morning for fuck’s sake!” exclaimed Flick. “It’s Miss Millerton, Miss Caterham.” “If you call me Miss Caterham again I shall explode. And this,” she waved a hand vaguely in my direction, “this is Millerton.” Rita popped the cork, poured three glasses and handed one each to me and Flick then sat down crossing those impressive legs. Flick maintained that the industry was still mainly run by men and having beautiful women in her agency did no harm. Yes, she always said, politically incorrect but economically substantiated, so fuck it. Rita raised a glass to me. “Cheers, Faye.” I smiled beatifically at her. “Cheers Rita.” I turned to Flick, “We like her, Flick, she’s a keeper.” “Miss,” Balgat escort she stressed the word, “Miss Millerton has, it must be admitted, risen higher in the firmament than might have been predicted when first my sister begged me to take her on as a client.” “You fibber! She told me you asked her to set up a meeting at one of her parties!” Lilly’s parties were legendary. “Sparing your feelings, no doubt. But, as I was saying Rita, my sister, Lilly, begged me to take her on and since then I have guided her gently and kindly through the maze and up the greasy pole despite,” she tapped a glossy nail on her desk, “despite a string of embarrassing and potentially career-destroying indiscretions, not least the German girl outside that sleazy bar you found her in.” (For the full story, read the first Rising Star.) “She was American.” How many times had I said that? ‘And the Mayoress of Bradford.” Oh God, yes, that was a truly embarrassing moment. ~~ A brief digression. The manager of the Compton Theatre, Bradford was a mate from drama school. He, Lionel Gammel, was a brilliant director but also a man who believed art was good for communities and instead of going to Hollywood or the west-end where he would no doubt have made a fortune, he had chosen to work in less auspicious surroundings, doing what he loved for the people around him. I loved him and occasionally did a show for him at mate’s rates (which Flick pretended to frown on). Lionel had called me. “Faye, I need your help.” “It’s not the goats again?” He laughed. “No, it’s subsidence.” “What?” “The fucking theatre is falling down!” The long and the short of it was he needed to raise over a million pounds to get the building repaired. We mounted a campaign and I got a few actor and actress friends to do a show gratis and we all did a few local and national Batıkent escort bayan tv appearances to raise interest and eventually we raised the money. The incident to which Flick referred was the night of the last performance of the charity show. It had been a review, a series of sketches or extracts from plays etc. Maz Foster was with me and we shared a dressing room. Most nights we left at the interval because we had nothing to do in the second half but because there was going to be a bit of a presentation when the curtain came down, we stayed in the dressing room and, inevitably, shared a bottle of gin Maz had brought. We sat there in our underwear and drank and chatted and, because Maz looked fabulous I knelt in front of her and gave her a good tongue exercise until she had a fairly noisy orgasm. None of this would have mattered if, whilst wired for a microphone and later on stage, I had not forgotten said microphone and whispered, ‘I can still taste you,’ and it was heard by, the press, the cast, a few of the audience and, of course, the Lady Mayoress. Needless to say, in our cups, Maz and I thought this was hilarious but not everyone shared our opinion. Flick was absolutely incandescent and would have told us both to fuck off had it not been for lovely Lionel who called her and said the publicity had gone ape and he’d had money pouring in from all over. Every cloud. ~~ “So,” said Flick, “despite her success it is incumbent on us, you and me, when she is here in England and on Hattie, when she is in the States, to keep her fucking leash on.” Her voice had risen a little. “She is a loose cannon; totally unreliable, juvenile, idiotic.” I poked my tongue out at her and said, “You missed out adorable.” “QED. She has been doing the Singapore thing and, so far as we are aware there have been no unfortunate incidents there. But she is about to be considered for a part, a very big part.” I could tell Rita knew all this, so it was for my benefit. “Tell her, Rita, I cannot bring myself to give the silly cow good news.” Rita smiled. “It’s called ‘The Court of the Kennedys.’ You get to play Jackie.” “If,” Flick interrupted, “if you behave!” 

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