The little actress stood trembling at the foreboding oak wood door of the producer’s office. It was tightly closed and separated two worlds. Summoning enough courage to knock, the petite young woman, practically just off the bus from Idaho, hesitated. She cleared her throat and checked her reflection in her compact, making sure her hair and lipstick were perfectly in place.
She didn’t even have to knock. The door opened and there stood the producer. To her he seemed like a giant. He could make or break her career, she thought. The meeting had to be just so. Perfect. She had to win his favor at any cost; completely bowl him over.
“Come in, Miss,” he said, not coldly but with no promises. He alternated between holding a large stogie in his left hand and between his teeth. Ashes dropped onto the carpet.
“Have a seat,” he said. She sat down on a chaise-lounge facing his massive desk.
“What can I do you for?”
She handed him her résumé, the standard 8 x 11 page with experience on one side and a headshot on the other. He looked at the scant sheet and looked at her. “Mr. Producer,” she said, “I’ll do anything to get the part… anything!”
He skimmed her résumé again aloofly and mumbled, “You really haven’t worked much, have you?”
As if she had not heard a word he said, she repeated, “I’ll do anything, Mr. Producer, anything for the part; I’ll show you!”
She lifted a leg up onto the seat seductively and began unbuttoning her blouse.
The producer, who until now was sitting at his desk, got up and sat next to her on the couch. She immediately dove for the crotch of his pants and clumsily attempted to unzip his fly.
The producer rose quickly and pushed her back. He sat down next to her again; she was crying.
“Mr. Producer, I’ll do anything for the part… anything…”
He reached over and began buttoning the top two buttons of her blouse. Handing her a tissue, he remarked, “Miss… … … it’s not that easy.”
He dropped the butt of his cigar onto the carpet and stomped it out with his foot.