Take Five

Doris yanks open the flimsy metal screen door on the trailer and storms into the dark interior. She snaps on the table lamp and paces. With the narrow trailer lined on one side by a couch, kitchenette, and a desk, and a two-stool bar, desk, and make-up table on the other, her pacing circuit is barely ten feet before she turns around at the small bedroom in the back. After a dozen laps, she sits at the make-up table and runs a long maple hairbrush through her deep red, shoulder-length waves. She flicks on the radio. A sax severely blows Dave Brubeck’s catchy new hit “Take Five.”

“This won’t do,” Doris says to no one. “I simply can’t do it.” She gets up and leans out the door. “Walter!” she yells, then resumes her agitation. She pours two fingers of bourbon in a crystal tumbler before she hears the door shut behind her.

“Don’t,” the low voice says.

She turns. Her eyes try to challenge Walter’s stony grimace, but her old friend has been here before and doesn’t blink.

“I can’t find it,” she says, throwing her hands in the air. “I’m supposed to feel distraught, beside myself. All I feel is bored. I’m a washout. A sham.”

“A drink isn’t going to help. You’ll lose your edge.”

“My edge? That’s long gone. We’ve shot this scene ten times. I’m tapped dry.”

Walter takes the glass, sniffs the swirling liquid, and downs it.

“Walter!”

“No drinks. We agreed.”

Doris loudly exhales a morning’s worth of frustration. “What am I going to do?” She looks at her watch. “Shooting starts again in fifteen minutes. And Mr. Warner will be there. I might as well start packing.”

“Easy now,” Walter says. The stout, gray-haired man rubs her shoulders with his strong, leathery hands. “Take deep breaths. You’ve been through this many times before. Think of your most upsetting memories. Pick one. Use it.” Walter looks through the sheets on his clip board. “I gotta run. I have to check on this afternoon’s shooting schedule.”

“Wait, Walter. Help me.”

“What can I do?” he says. Then tosses in, perhaps too quickly, “I’m not the highly paid act.”

“Don’t get snippy. You’re my assistant. Assist me.

Walter looks over Doris as she now fills a glass with water. Her strategically drawn, tea-length, white silk dress and sparkling silettos were a masterful selection by the costumer. While her acting depth is frequently debated in the gossip rags, it’s clear she is given in poise and shape. All morning he watched the crew watch the silk fabric undulate and sway as she ran up the stairs over and over again until the director was satisfied. The hours spent coifing her signature red locks starting at four a.m. were clearly upstaged.

Bu Doris’ big scene with Beauregard came to an awkward standstill. Her character had stolen money from her fiancé’s dresser drawer so she could buy him an expensive gift to prove her love for him. Beauregard is beside himself and has called off the wedding. It’s aPowerful scene, but their chemistry was off. Even though everyone was tired, the director kept pushing. The film was behind schedule. Just one more take. One more take. Finally, Doris snapped and stormed off the set. To make matters worse, the studio head was stopping by later to check-up. The production was slowly falling apart. In Walter’s mind, the entire cast and crew needed a collective kick in the pants to get the film back on track. Once again, the day hinges on the star’s lowly assistant.

Walter tosses his clipboard on the couch. “That’s it. I’ve had it,” he says and steps over to close the inner door. He pours a shot of Bourbon and gulps it down. “Cheers,” he says as he squares his age-weary shoulders and slams the glass on the counter.

Doris looks up, started. “Hey, that’s my…” Before she can finish her sentence, Walter grabs her wrist and drags her to the breakfast bar. “Walter, what are you—”

He pulls out a stool and sits down, plants one foot on the lowest rung. “I’m assisting you.”

“Let go.” Doris tries to pull away. “You’re hurting me.”

“The hurting, my dear, has yet to begin.” He yanks her off her feet and plants her across his lap. His thick arm clamps over Doris’s waist and he delivers a powerful smack to her wiggling behind.

“Walter! What are you…ow!…doing. Stop it. This instant.” Her arms and legs flail in the air unable to find purchase. She screams. “You’re fired.”

“Hush,” Walter says and lands his large palm several times in rapid succession. Tired of her whiny tantrums he decides to get right to the point. “You can fire me if you like, but you’re not leaving this trailer until you’re ready to act. If you don’t quit your squirming I will finish this on your bare bottom.”

To his surprise, she stops squirming. But only to look back and give him a look that unfortunates him. “You wouldn’t dare,” she says icily as she reaches back and take hold of her hem. Walter easily unclamps her fingers andpins her hand against her back. No turning back now, he decides.

“Help!” she screams so loud his ears ring.

“That does it.” He grabs the hem of her dress and flicks it up her back.

“No wait,” she protests. “I won’t scream.”

“Too late for that.” With one hand he works each side of her panties down over her pert behind. Her bottom already has a rosy pink oval on each summit. He bunches her panties at her knees and pushes her forward so that her bottom is prominently displayed.

She gasps. “Walter…please…no,” limps from her lips just before a hail of spanks pepper her behind. She screams and yells with all her might but he ignores her pleasures. Suddenly the door swings open and the waifish, blonde script girl pokes her head in. “Is everything OK in…Oh, my.”

“Get out,” Walter barks. “Or you’re next.”

The young woman hastily exits and slams the door behind her.

Walter picks Doris up like she’s weightless and stands her up, holding her armsto her side in front of him. Her eyes are on fire and she’s about to speak.

“Not one word,” he warns.

“Listen…,” she starts.

Walter spins her around and gives her exposed bottom a singing swat then spins her back to face him.

“Please…,” she says.

He spins her again, spanks her hard, and spins her back.

Doris’s mouth opens again, but the look on Walter’s face makes her clamp it shut.

“That’s better,” Walter says, calm as a hurricane’s eye. “Now, if you insist on making lots of noise, I’m going to take that nice long cheese board on the counter and we’ll see just how much noise you can make.”

Doris’s eyes seem to double in size. Her lips open and close several times, then simply quiver as she weighs the outcomes of her options.

“Good girl,” he says before he pulls Doris back over his lap. He gathers her dress at her waist again. Doris surrenders and draws like a noodle, her palms just touching the floor. “The good news,” he sayss as he begins a steady rhythm of spanks from one cheese to the other, “is that I’m seeing some raw emotion now. Go with that.” Then he stops talking and settlements in to the task at hand.

Doris succumbs to her tears and drifts beyond awareness of the heat that flames every inch of her backside. She is, instead, in the backyard of her childhood home. She is eleven. Two days before, young Doris was caught stealing a book at the five-and-dime in town. Her father said nothing when the store-keeper brought her home. Expecting the worst, all she got was a look of disappointment. It was worse than any punishment he had ever given her. He didn’t speak to her for a week. She felt like he didn’t love her anymore. It was the saddest day of her life. She felt like something had broken between them. And it was all her fault.

The sound of struck skin brings her back to the present. Walter is still spanking, slow and steady. It’s hypnotic. She looks at the carpet, inches from her face. It’swet. She realizes tears are dripping from her eyes. Suddenly a huge sob racks her. Then another. Everything blurs and she cries full out. Did Daddy still love her? Why didn’t he ever show it again?

Suddenly, the room spins and she finds herself standing again, wobbly. She feels as if she’s been drinking. Walter is speaking, but she can’t make out what he’s saying. Then she’s on his lap again, but this time sitting. She feels his arms wrap around her, pull her in.

“That’s it, Doris,” he is saying. “That’s a good girl. I knew you could do it.”

She breaks down again. He cares. Walter simply cares. Even though she can be mean to him. She feels loved, and that makes her cry even harder.

“It’s time to go,” he says gently. “Camera’s are ready.”

He walks her to the door. With a start, she reaches down, but her panties are in place. Her dress hangs as it should.

“Thank you, Walter.”

He squeezes her close and plants a kiss on her head.

When she passes by the make-up mirror, she shrinks. “Oh my God, Walter. My face,” she says. “My make-up is ruined. It’s running all over the place.”

“It’s perfect,” Walter says softly as he helps her down the stairs. “Go with that.”

THE END