the men of the silver screen were always threatening to spank their ladies or were throwing them over one shoulder or tucking them under an arm to carry them off somewhere in order to smother their mouths with kisses.
Bettie had come to associate men in their late thirties and early forties with such romantic images. Augie Rose, for example, had short hair and wore crisp suits, just like Melvin Douglas or Franchot Tone. He had the proper look, was undoubtedly in The Scene, and in fact was in every way, Bettie’s notion of a real leading man.
But Bettie sensed that Augie Rose was not interested. His body language confirmed it. Which made her wonder why he had given her the work at all. She had already been affected by Gilbert’s cynicism and didn’t expect something for nothing in Los Angeles. Bettie sent Hugo an email asking his opinion after reporting the results of their first encounter.
Hugo wrote back:
Dear Bettie,
He probably took one look at you and thought you were fifteen. Next time you see him, dress like a lady.
Hugo
Bettie didn’t own many grown up outfits. She did have several pair of outrageously high pumps that Gilbert had bought her and which she had only worn with lingerie (in that deliciously sleazy adult motel with the mirror on the ceiling) for him. And she had a stretch jersey dress or two.
When Bettie arrived at Augie’s offices the following Tuesday to pick up her check she was dressed in a long sleeved cream wool sheath dress and a pair of black pumps with four inch heels and elegantly high vamps. Over the dress she had thrown a black cashmere princess cut topcoat that had been Hugo’s going away present to her at the end of the summer. She had knotted her long, thick hair into a full chignon at the back of her head and colored both her lips and nails dark red. The effect was to add several years to her appearance and she looked like a different young woman entering Augie’s office the second time.
“Bettie?” Augie asked, rising from behind his desk. She tottered in and unsteadily sat down. They looked at each other for a moment, neither knowing what to say and both coloring as they tried to decide.
“Don’t you look different today?” he finally remarked, raising his eyebrow at her as though the change did not entirely please him. In reality his heart was thumping at the thought of how easily he might possess the sophisticated little dreamboat who was so obviously offering herself to him for a second appraisal.
“Do you not like me this way?” she asked tremblingly.
“Well, I’ll admit you were a bit casual during our first interview,” he replied, writing her out a check and tearing it out of a large book. “Thank you, Bettie.” She took the check and put it in her purse.
“Thank you,” she said. “I hope my work was satisfactory.”
“Oh, fine. Call me next week. Maybe I’ll have something else for you.”
“Okay,” she replied, realizing with a heavy blush, that she was being dismissed.
By the time she had tottered to the bus stop, Bettie was sobbing. She was a beautiful, 18 year old submissive, a chic fashion angel in pure wools and fetish pumps. She had essentially wrapped herself up as a present for a 40-year-old man in the scene and he had simply dismissed her. Bettie was crushed. What had she done wrong? Why was he indifferent? She felt too ashamed at the lack of impression she had made on Augie Rose to confide in Hugo as yet.
Somehow she lived through the week, forcing herself to think about her schoolwork rather than Augie Rose. At least he had given her the invitation to call him. She did this mid morning on Monday, unaware that this is the busiest time for all businesspersons. She stammered out that she was calling to see if he had any more work. He seemed harried and said he’d call her later in the week.
More torment. Bettie had found Augie Rose’s website, which displayed several excellent portraits of the pulp fiction publisher. Therefore she was able to look upon the countenance of Augie Rose while she wondered and waited. Finally on Thursday afternoon he emailed her that if she cared to stop by on Friday afternoon he would have work for her.
Bettie was wildly excited at having a fresh opportunity to interest Augie Rose, but less than eager accept another tedious editorial assignment, the excellent money not withstanding. She had lost much valuable study time the previous weekend and dreaded another such laborious task.
This time Bettie arrived at Augie Rose’s offices dressed in a charmingly conservative little coed outfit composed of a skirt and matching cardigan over a fitted blouse, with well behaved two and a half inch pumps, rather reminiscent of the forties. She wore her hair loose and it rippled down her back. Augie was irresistibly attracted to its glossy luxuriance and in spite of his determination not to flirt with her, blurted out, “God, you’ve got beautiful hair.”
Bettie felt some pleasure at these words but they really meant nothing to her. What she wanted to hear was a threat or a promise of something which she knew interested Augie Rose as much as it did her.
“Anyway, I thought I’d talk to you about doing some writing for me. I’m putting out some erotic magazines. One will be vanilla, the other fetish. I have a lot of space to fill and I need someone to write the letters sections. I’ll need about six thousand words per magazine. I’ll pay you three hundred dollars for each letters section. Do you think you could handle that?”
“You mean edit letters or make them up?”
“After the magazines are out for a while you’ll get real letters from readers,” explained Augie, “but initially you’ll write them.”
“Where are they supposed to have come from then?”
“The vaults of Augie Rose,” said Augie with a smile.
“So I just make up jack-off letters?”
“Exactly. A vanilla set and a fetish set.”
“When do you need them by?”
“How about the first set next week and the second one the week after?”
“That sounds like a lot of writing.”
“You mustn’t be a perfectionist about it,” Augie advised. “This stuff is ephemeral. Just write it off the top of your head. ”
“Okay.”
“Here’s a list of topics to cover,” said Augie, handing her a piece of paper. Bettie looked at side marked: Erotic Fantasies. Under this heading Augie had penciled in: head, three ways, adultery, virginity, wedding night, bachelorette party, jumbo endowments, etc. The other side was marked: Exotic Fantasies and included: spanking, bondage, flagellation, cross dressing, exhibitionism, water sports, corsetry, shoes and boots, feet, bosom worship, bottom worship, goddess worship, leather, latex, S&M, B&D, transvestism, etc.
“Mr. Rose, can I just do the fetish letters?” asked Bettie with a sigh. It suddenly seemed to her that Augie would never pay attention to her as a woman, so she decided that she’d better get the most out of their business together.
“Oh? You just want the fetish magazine? Why is that?”
“The other one seems beyond boring. And I don’t have that much free time.”
“Okay.
