Eventually, Shutterbug’s worries decreased. The threats against him seemed to grow weaker with each passing moment. Like the song said, time was on his side. Steve Austin had threatened him, and nothing had come of it. The anonymous telephone warning was becoming a distant memory. Maybe the call was just an outgrowth of someone else’s paranoia. Or maybe it was a joke. Maybe a competitor was trying to get under his skin. Maybe-
Shutterbug sighed. God, he needed some sleep. If only his worries would leave him alone for a while.
He closed his eyes. Pictured a dog, sleeping. Let sleeping dogs lie, he thought. And he slept.
The doorbell woke Shutterbug at 8:45 P.M. He rolled off the couch too fast and almost lost his balance. He headed into the entry hall, not even sure he wanted to answer the door. It had been a less-than-spectacular day. Perhaps he was due some good news. Publisher’s Clearing House with a big check or something.
The bell rang again just as he opened the door.
“Hiiiii, Marvisssss,” Shelly said, breathing each word as if she were Marilyn Monroe. “Did everything calm down around here? What happened last night, anyway?” She gasped. “God! What happened to your face?”
“Just some old friends having fun.” Shutterbug ran a hand over his scratched forehead. “We went on a little nature hike.”
“Suuuure,” she said. “Sorry I jammed, but they scared me.”
Shutterbug nodded. “I didn’t think we had anything on for tonight.”
“Well, if you want me to go…” She winked coyly, a trick she had mastered in front of Shutterbug’s camera. “But I don’t have anything else to do. I mean, I don’t want to stay at home, because my father’s drunk… again. And I know you said that you wanted to see me this weekend. But my boyfriend’s out with his buds. And I figured, well, maybe I could see you tonight, and then I could see Joey this weekend, and then Joey wouldn’t get mad at me. Because if Joey gets mad at me, I might not be able to see you at all this weekend.”
“We wouldn’t want that,” Shutterbug said.
“Shit no we wouldn’t.” Shelly smiled, entering the house, dropping her backpack on the floor. “You don’t know Joey.”
In the basement, Shutterbug set up his camera while Shelly rattled on with tales of her boyfriend, her latest escapades in school, and her semi-tragic home life. Her stories entered Shutterbug’s left ear and exited his right. He figured it wouldn’t be bad to do some work tonight. Get his mind off his problems, spend some time with a pretty young thing. Maybe he would do some coke with Shelly. They could unwind. Together. God knew he needed to relax.
No. Shutterbug didn’t feel right about Shelly. Something about the panic in her eyes when the toilet paper hit the window last night didn’t sit right with him. She’d been awfully quick to claim that she had nothing to do with it. He had to be careful. Business was business, and his business danced outside the bounds of the law’s idea of moral decency.
That was a laugh. What difference did it make if a girl was eighteen? Did that birthday automatically make her an adult? Christ, some of his fifteen-year-olds looked twenty; he had to do the old soft focus bit to make them look younger. And on the flip side, he had once picked up a fresh-faced fourteen-year-old drinking at a bar with a fake ID. The bartender hadn’t even checked it, but the kicker was that some college kid hadn’t checked it either. The kidlet had one annulled marriage under her belt, and that night she was out celebrating with hush money supplied by the preppie boy’s wealthy parents.
But justifications aside, there was only one reason Shutterbug operated outside the law-that’s where the money was. If the law said eighteen, an independent producer couldn’t make a dime with a room full of eighteen- year-olds. Not on a shoestring budget. But if the law said eighteen, and an enterprising indy found a sixteen-year- old, or a fifteen-year-old who was willing to do some really inventive things…
Dollar signs. Big green ones.
Shutterbug adjusted the lights while Shelly stripped. She jawed about her boyfriend and the things they did together. “He gave me these books on acting,” she said. “He knows I want to be an actress and…” She slipped off her jeans. Flat belly, cleft between her legs so enticing because her legs were young and slim. The soft tangle of blonde pubic hair, a nest for an old lecher’s head. “…Marlon Brando. And Montgomery Clift. He was pretty crazy. But I guess I like the one about Marilyn the best. She was so…” Hot. Shutterbug licked his lips. Shelly undid her blouse, button by button. She wore no bra, and her breasts were full and the cool basement air caressed her nipples and they hardened and gooseflesh rose on her puckered aureoles and she reached for her costume. She stretched, turning, and Shutterbug marveled at her slicing ribs and flat belly, and his eyes were once again trapped by the generous swell of her sweet little. “…method actors. It really makes sense to me. I want to be…” April Destino’s cheerleader sweater filled her hands, and she slipped it over her head. It was a little loose on her. It didn’t hug her breasts the way it had once hugged April’s, but it looked good. And, besides, styles were looser these days.
April…Jesus, no. Shelly lay on the bed stretching, staring through the fake window at the beach mural on the basement wall as if she had never noticed it before. “Where is this beach, anyway?” she asked. “I mean, I know you said it was in Hawaii, but where?”
“Maui.”
“Oh, yes. Maui,” Shelly said, trying to sound as if she spent her vacations at Kapalua Bay when the truth was that she generally summered in Moab, Utah, cleaning rooms in the cheap motel owned by a lecherous uncle who had popped her cherry when she was thirteen. “And what am I doing here?”
“Just a solo tonight. You know the routine. First you look at yourself in the mirror, then you take off the sweater and play with your nipples, and then you open the dresser drawer and take out the-”
Her laughter cut him off. “Geez, you haven’t been listening to me at all.”
“Sure I was.”
She raised her eyebrows so wickedly that he couldn’t help but feel guilty. “You’re a liar, Marvis. But I’ll allow you that simple failing, because you’re my most wonderful director.”
Shutterbug wondered what movie she had stolen that line from. He certainly didn’t have a snappy comeback, so he tried to get things back on track. “Okay, now if you just step over to the mirror.”
“No. Not until you explain my motivation.”
“What?”
“That’s the method. Brando, Clift, Monroe. Jesus! I thought you knew something about the movies!”
Shutterbug sighed. “C’mon, Shelly. This is just a little silly.”
It was the wrong thing to say. She pouted.
“Okay,” he said. “Maybe I was a little too harsh.”
“Marvis…I can’t make it real for you unless you make it real for me.”
He smiled, but he was thinking that it was time to find a new girl.
“Make it real for me, Marvis,” she said.
“Okay.” He hesitated. “You’re a young girl…very innocent. You’re in Hawaii. You see a guy you like and you can’t stop thinking about him. So you go back to your hotel room, and your parents aren’t around, and you-”
“Flick my clit.” She shook her head. “That’s all this is to you, isn’t it? Little Shelly flicking her clit. And then you’ll want me to go at it with that kinky stuff you keep in the drawer.” She turned away. “I thought you could do better than that, Marvis.”
“Okay,” he said, surprised to find that the conversation was actually making him feel inadequate. “Give me a second chance, Shelly. Maybe we can work on this together. Maybe we can create a character.”
“That would be great!” Shelly’s face lit up, but the light faded fairly quickly. “Now, who am I?”
“Like I said, you’re a girl on vacation-”
“And?”
“And you see this guy-”
“C’mon, Marvis. If I’m on vacation, and if I’m in Hawaii, what am I doing wearing a cheerleading
