THE NEXT GENERATION

By Ezra Zane (edited by Ruthie)

My assistant admitted her and introduced us.

Barely five feet with tiny bones, her breasts seemed huge. Wasp waist. Perfect legs and ass. High cheekbones. Incredibly long lashes. Big brown sloe-eyes. Bee-stung lower lip.

She was a carbon copy of Beth, her mother.

"Have a seat, Courtney. What can I do for you?"

"I want to be a star, Mr. Solomon," she said intensely. "Mom said you could make me one because you're a player and have the contacts. I'll do anything it takes."

"I've heard that before."

"I'm talking about paying my dues, acting classes, and long, hard hours of countless demands. Mom said she wouldn't make those sacrifices, so she left tinsel town. I'll make them. I promise I will."

"What did she tell you about me?"

"That you're often brusque, sometimes brutal, but underneath you're a good man and keep your promises. She said to trust you completely and do everything you say."

"And that's all?"

What a look she gave me! Beth's look-the one radiating lusty promises that make a man demented with desire. I'd ached to see that look again.

"No, Mr. Solomon," she said in a voice that that can't be taught, a voice from a woman's soul to enrapture a man. "She said you'd fuck me long and hard and often, that I'd think of you when I was with other men and dream of you when Hollywood was in the misty past." She hesitated. "I've looked forward to you, Mr. Solomon," she purred.

I thought about those last bittersweet months with Beth. It made no difference, but I wanted to know. "When were you born?"

She smiled knowingly and told me. I did the math.

"You'll be a star, Courtney. I promise. Let's start with lunch," I said.

The End
 E. Z. Riter