48. THE BUSTY BIRTH OF FAME..?

48. THE BUSTY BIRTH OF FAME..?

A Chapter by Peter Rogerson
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Five more years have passed, and Ursula is getting some success

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The Bedroom Bonanza had sold moderately well for a novel published by a small publishing house in a minor county away from the bright lights of the big city, and Ursula was as good as being over the moon. In the five years since it had first appeared in the shops she had not only written a sequel which was almost finished, but the original had been spotted by a production company and they wanted to make it into a film.

Imagine that! She a Hollywood star! Or if not that, a writer for Hollywood stars to mime to!

And now here she was in the big city itself and meeting with an agent.

An agent!

That she should have such a person in her life, she who had always had to represent herself in everything she did, was unbelievable! And now, here she was, well into her sixties and with Laura Pinkerton sitting at a large oak desk and smiling at her.

I thought the book of yours was an excellent read,” she said, “and if you accept my help for my usual fee I will be delighted to negotiate with Dead-dare Films on your behalf, and they are most certainly interested.”

Of course,” she murmured, trying to sound as if discussing the production of a film from one of her own ideas was something she did every day, and failing miserably.

They’re talking of offering the main role to Bubbles Brastrap,” continued Ms Pinkerton (she wasn’t a Mrs or a Miss but a Ms). “Bubbles was quite a big name in the alternative film industry back in the day, but there’s not a great demand for the services of a fifty-something exotic actress and she’s hoping that her role in The Bedroom Bonanza will open new doors to more serious roles in the future.”

The alternative film industry?” asked Ursula.

Laura smiled, a little grimly. “It’s usually known as the porn industry, and Bubbles starred in hundreds of films back when she was young and, shall we say, well-breasted. I hate to think of how many hunky men she had to sleep with! All in make-believe, they say, but hey, who would blame her if reality took a peep every so often?

I’ve never heard of her,” confessed Ursula.

Well, she’s had time to learn her craft,” Laura said, “in the peak of her career she sometimes made two or even three short films back to back. They were the usual sort of thing and I want you to know I had nothing to do with her back then.”

The usual sort of thing?” asked Ursula.

Oh, a busty girl is dusting somewhere in her house with a Ken Dodd-type tickling stick, the door gets knocked, a workman calls to fix something and before you can say Jack Robinson they’re rolling around on a sheepskin rug in the altogether and getting up to all sorts of erotic things before the door gets knocked again and a lady window-cleaner comes in to make up a threesome. They were very formulaic, though I, er, never saw one.”

Will she … I mean, Gertrude is pretty straight-laced for most of the time,” said Ursula tentatively.

She’ll be all right,” confirmed Laura, “one thing in her favour is the fact that making the number or films that she did she just had to learn her craft, and she can act. And she’s the right age for Gertrude. It couldn’t be better. Especially when you consider the Reverend Shackle is being played by Justin Bodyline.”

Justin Bodyline? Should I have heard of him?” asked Ursula, more confused than ever. It seemed unlikely that whoever he was had been christened Justine Bodyline.

He’s been in television,” assured Laura without so much as blushing, because all he’d done was polish his shoes in one short commercial which had only been shown once.

I hope he’s nervous and suffering from a history of wartime tragedy,” said Ursula determinedly. “When I finished writing the book I had a real-life vicar in mind and I want Simon Shackle to be something like him. He stayed with me for a few years, before he died.”

We’ll leave it up to the director,” said Laura, “now if you sign here … and here … we’ll set things into motion. I do know they’re looking forward to working with you on this one, though they will bring in a script writer with experience of the motion picture industry at the end of the twentieth century.”

I wouldn’t know where to start, writing a proper script,” confessed Ursula.

You say the real life vicar, the one you would like the Reverend Shackle to be based on, died?” asked Laura as she tidied the papers away and got ready to leave. “Tell me more…?”

He was a troubled soul,” sighed Ursula, “and one night when he was feeling low I let him sleep in the same bed as me. Don’t get me wrong, there was nothing at all erotic or even suggestive about it, but he did curl up and sleep next to me. And even by next morning you could have put a bolster between us, he was so determined to be honourable.”

There are not many men like that,” murmured Laura, “now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting upstairs. I’ll keep in touch. There should be no need for you to call here at all often. I’ll see to everything. Toodle-pip!”

And the meeting with Ms Laura Pinkerton was over. It had been a rushed affair, and she had been hustled out all too quickly. There was nothing more for Ursula to do than make her way to the station to catch a train home and mull over names like Bubbles Brastrap.

As she sat there, lulled by the clickety-clack of the train going over points and the green scenery flashing past, her mind went back to a year earlier when she had found the body of the retired Reverend Jude Pernicle in the room he rented from her. He had been stone dead and the brief note he had left next to his cold head on the pillow briefly said that he’d had enough of the dark nights and was off in search of the light of a different kind of day. That, and the empty bottle of prescription pills that prevented the note from flying away, was all, but she knew exactly what he meant. He was still tortured by the death of the Gerry he had never really known. And somewhere in his mind there must have been a remnant of his old Christian faith. Maybe he thought there might be a Heaven after all...

She sighed.

While he had been there they had formed a sort of relationship, one that even seemed verging on the romantic from time to time. She sighed. They had slept together in the true sense of the words from time to time after that first despairing night, even made love once, with him as nervous as the virgin that he claimed to be. But all the time she had known he was haunted by the past. With no work to take his mind off his troubles, he had slowly drifted to what seemed tantamount to a kind of madness that had culminated in his suicide. She recalled that he had told her once that his brother had taken his own life, too, years earlier. Maybe there was something in the blood… She didn’t know.

After that dreadful war experience he had searched for release in religion, had even believed that there was a god that would give him forgiveness, but had slowly been disillusioned until he’d spent most of his working life as a vicar with atheist undertones. But he’d tried to do his job properly, for the benefit of his parishioners. He’d just failed to mention the more ludicrous biblical events when he planned his sermons.

The train arrived at Brumpton and she was still mulling over the late Jude Pernicle and his troubled life as she found her car in the station car park and set off for home.

She picked Jane up at the village shop and ran her home, grinning.

You’ll never know who Gertrude is going to be played by,” she said, and laughed. “Bubbles Brastrap! What a name! And you’ll never guess what she did when she was younger...”

Sounds like a porn star,” said Jane, curiously

That she was! Think of it! My Gertrude being played by someone who quite happily calls herself Busty Brastrap! She’d better be a darned good actress, or the whole project will die a horrible death. What will they call it? Straight to DVD, then the bargain bin in corner shops, and then to oblivion?”

© Peter Rogerson 27.08.18




© 2018 Peter Rogerson


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Added on August 27, 2018
Last Updated on August 27, 2018
Tags: Agent, novel, film script, porn star actress, actor, suicide

A WOMAN OF EXCELLENT TASTE


Author

Peter Rogerson
Peter Rogerson

Mansfield, Nottinghamshire, United Kingdom



About
I am 80 years old, but as a single dad with four children that I had sole responsibility for I found myself driving insanity away by writing. At first it was short stories (all lost now, unfortunately.. more..

Writing