Ovid 7: The Director free porn video

Ovid VII The Director By The Professor Copyright (c) The Professor, 1999 You would never expect to find a beach in Oklahoma, would you? Well, Sunset Beach was a pleasant surprise. Of course, it was really situated on a clear blue lake called Lake Pelias, and the sand was all trucked in, but on a hot summer afternoon, it was just the place to be. All the land around the lake was owned by a Brad Nelson. He had trucked in the sand and installed a gravel parking lot. Two dollars apiece got you in past the gate. Then you could use the bath house, rent a locker, ride the merry-go-round, pig out on the overpriced hot dogs and snow cones, or just lie around on the beach and work on your tan. No beer, though. After all, this was a family place and it was Oklahoma. Brad Nelson would stroll around the beach, chatting with his patrons, even delivering drinks and food if someone requested it. He was a wiry little guy with a full beard, brown with a touch or two of gray. He usually just wore swim trunks and thongs on the beach, so he sported a full, even tan. Brad was probably Neleus, one of Neptune's sons, I realized. I was really getting pretty good at my Greek and Roman mythology. Of course, living in Ovid tended to do that to you. After a few months in Ovid, you tended to wonder when you met someone (a real someone - not a shade) if they were part of the pantheon of Olympic gods. Then again, he might have been just a pleasant guy named Brad Nelson, transformed by the Judge into the upbeat guy who ran Sunset Beach. I tended to believe he was Neleus, though. After all, if he was, Lake Pelias was named for his twin brother. "Hi, Cindy!" he called out to me. He didn't look me in the eye, though. Although I had been a woman for several months now, this was my first experience wearing a bikini - in public at least. It seemed that being an attractive woman meant that the less you wore, the more you got stared at - particularly the more impressive parts of your anatomy. I was glad I had been transformed in the fall. That had given me a chance to get used to my new sex before displaying the merchandise so obviously. I kind of liked being stared at, though. When you're a mother of two, it's nice to know you can still get a guy's attention. "Hi, Brad," I called back, looking up from the romance novel I had been reading. That was one of the occupational hazards of being a woman. I would never have dreamed of reading one of those romances when I was a man, but as a woman, they seemed just about the right thing to read. "Where's Jerry?" "Over there," I said, pointing to the handsome man laughing and splashing with the two young blonde children - one a boy and the other a girl - that were our twins. We had all once been fraternity brothers at Notre Dame. Then we went through Ovid and our lives - and identities -were completely changed. Only I remembered our previous lives, though, and I didn't really care about that any more. We were just the happy young family we appeared to be, and that was fine with me. Brad turned to the lovely young woman next to me. "And how are you, Susan?" "Never better," the attractive brunette lying next to me engrossed in her own romance novel replied with a friendly smile. A passerby, seeing her lying there in her white bikini would never have imagined that she had once been one of the top criminal lawyers in the country - and a man at that. She was still a lawyer, but no trace of the man remained. Susan Jager was all woman, and happily married to a man who had once been her wife. Ovid could be so confusing sometimes. "I saw Steve over playing volleyball with some of his students," Brad said. "That's Steve for you," Susan grinned. "He can be so macho sometimes." If Brad was in on the true nature of Ovid, he would understand the humor in Susan's statement, since her husband Steve had only been a man for less than two years. Brad gave a noncommittal smile. If he was associated with the gods, he didn't want to discuss it. Some of them did, but most were indistinguishable from the regular citizens of Ovid - and they seemed to prefer it that way. One of the most distinguishable was suddenly standing before us as Brad sauntered away. She appeared to be about sixteen, with long blonde hair and a pink bikini about the same shade as mine that emphasized rather than hid her ample figure. One look in her dancing eyes made you realize she was no ordinary sixteen year old. She was instead a goddess, her eyes wise beyond her years. She appeared in many different forms in the time I had known her, but somehow, I could always recognize her. "Why the youthful appearance, Diana?" I asked her, smiling. She gave me a little girl smile in return. "Because it's the best age to be when you're at the beach." She plopped down beside us, her breasts sawing so suddenly that a poor teenage boy carrying two cokes nearly tripped and spilled them all over himself. "Old ladies like you are always content to sit around reading romances instead of living them." "Now wait a minute!" Susan and I chorused as we threw down our books. Diana giggled. "So now are you two going to tell me about your love lives?" Susan smiled sweetly. "Mine may not match yours for variety, but for quality, Steve can't be topped." Diana laughed. "I think you've just zinged me. Good one, too!" It was hard to be catty around Diana. She always appreciated a good cut, even when she was the target. Of all the gods and goddesses who inhabited Ovid, Diana seemed to be the true free spirit. Sometimes I think she liked us poor humans more than she liked her fellow Olympians. "So you're going after the high school boys today?" I asked her. "I might," she said coyly. "But first, you'd like to hear a story," I surmised. "Got any good ones?" she asked excitedly, turning to smile at a young lad who actually had to shift his swim trunks so his erection wouldn't show. "How about Sly?" Susan suggested. "Yes, I want to see Sly's story," Diana said excitedly as she sat beside us. I didn't blame her. Sly was one our more interesting new residents. Since the Judge had given me the power to document the stories of our new residents, it would be almost like climbing inside Sly's mind - and an interesting mind it was, too. "Okay," I agreed. "Are you both ready?" They nodded avidly. I began to slip into my trance as I mumbled, "Then here we go..." *** "So are you going to sleep all day?" The melodious baritone cut through the fog of my sleep like an icebreaker through thin ice. It was noisy and it hurt. I silently vowed to myself to use a little more moderation the next time I partied. I couldn't carry on now like I could when I was twenty. Or thirty. Or forty. I groaned, rolling over, my arm flopping out until it landed on a soft mound of flesh next to me. "Ow, Phil!" a whiny voice cried out next to me. "You bruised my right boob, you dick!" "Don't call me a dick or you'll be looking for work," I managed to growl. Actresses. You have to always remind them who the boss is, I thought. I didn't have to even open my eyes to know that the whiny voice next to me belonged to Janice Lamuse, my number one porno - excuse me -exotic star. She had all the acting talent of a walk-on in a high school play, but she could shake those silicon-enhanced hooters all over the screen and make it look like she just couldn't get enough of that big schlong all those porno - excuse me - exotic actors seemed to have. "Come on, it's ten o'clock," the baritone voice urged. "We've got a plane to catch." "Plane?" I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck in a vain attempt to keep the back of my head from splitting open. Damned Italian wine. It always sneaked up on me. Sure, it tasted mellow the night before, but this morning, after a couple of bottles of it the night before, mixed with a pack of cigarettes and a line of coke, I felt like shit. No, I take that back. Shit had to feel a whole lot better than I felt. "Yeah, the plane," the baritone repeated, over the whimpers of my lovely bedmate. "The one taking us to the location - remember?" "Fucking movie business," I grumbled, pushing myself up off soft flesh. "Ow! Now you got the left one!" "Tough shit," I muttered, opening my eyes in the bright California sunlight for the first time that day. The baritone was standing in front of me, a grin on his too-handsome face. God, what I wouldn't give to look like him, I thought. Six-two, muscles that seemed to ripple even when he wore a suit, blonde hair that was bleached almost white from years of surfing, and a tan that would make George Hamilton green with envy - what a package! To get girls in bed with me, I had to promise them a part in my next movie. To get girls in bed with him, all my baritone had to do was smile and look into their eyes. They would be pulling their own clothes off while they followed him to the nearest bed. "Come on, Sunshine, I need to take a piss and you're standing in the way," I growled at him. Apollo Sun - what a name, huh? - just smiled that little smile of his. "I told you to go easy last night." That was Apollo Sun for you - the master of going easy. I was sure it wasn't his real name. Hell, who in Southern California used their own name if they were in the entertainment business? The lovely Janice Lamuse, for example, was born with a different name, I was sure. Cute name for a porn - exotic actress, I thought. So who knew what Apollo's real name was? Under that name, he had been a professional surfer and won more than his share of championships. Nobody seemed to know where he was from or what his real name was, and I suppose nobody cared. Besides, it was probably something like Apollonius. He was probably named for his old Greek grandfather or something, although he didn't look Greek. I called him Sunshine just to jerk his chain, but he didn't seem to mind. As he stood aside, allowing me the closest route to the bathroom, I had to admit he was a lucky find. I had been shooting a little Beach Bunny film not too far away from my Malibu digs, and he had been one of the extras. Unlike most of the male bimbos that strutted up and down the beach, surfboards in hand, Apollo seemed to have some smarts. He had asked me about the movie business, and I had given him the answers. I was funny, I thought as I relieved myself, I took an instant liking to him. That was unusual for me. I think it was because he treated me as if I was an artist and not just another sleazeball T&A director. Also, he didn't seem to be interested in showing off his pecs in front of the camera like his surfer brethren. Instead, he wanted to know about the business of movies. So I told him. I told him that behind all the perceived glamour of the movies, there was a business that was more like running a circus than running a company. There were egos to be soothed, locations to be scoped, palms to be greased, and deals to be done. Most good ideas go down the shitter, and bad ideas get made into movies. Usually, the reality of the movie business is enough to send most guys like Apollo back into the waves playing Surfer Dude. In other words, it's hard work, and most male bimbos don't want anything to do with hard work. Apollo was different, though. He was actually able to grasp the business end of movies quicker than anybody else I ever saw. I wondered if he was the reincarnation of Jack Warner. Whatever he was, he was a godsend to me. With Apollo on my team, I could stay busy writing and directing and let him take care of the nitty gritty details. He got a co-producer credit on film, along with me. Me? I'm Phil Malone. Never heard of me? Well, I'm not surprised. Hollywood is the home of the great and the forgotten. Guys like George Lucas, a classmate at USC, are the great. Me? I'm the forgotten. Mostly movie buffs remembered me for one film. It was made back in '75 when I was just twenty-seven. The film was called "A Night in Olympus." No, it wasn't one of those "Clash of the Titans" things. It was about a kid whose dad deserted him and his mom died when he was sixteen. He thinks his dad was somebody important and seeks him out, finally confronting him one night at his palatial home. Want to know the ending? Rent the movie - or I guess you can't now. Anyhow, it looked like my career was going up, up, up. But it wasn't. I only thought it was. The next movie I was offered was the one that was supposed to put me up there in lights. It was a little story, written by some minor Italian actor named Stallone. I forget his first name. It was about a boxer who takes on the champ - a real David and Goliath story. The only problem was this Stallone guy wanted to play David. I told the studio no. He was too short and mumbled his lines. Either I picked the cast or I didn't direct. They caved in. After all, after "A Night in Olympus," I was the wunderkid. I picked a young rising star for the part. His name was Matt Cardone, and even though he had never made a movie before, I touted him as the next Brando. In a word, the movie tanked. Oh, the Italian kid - Stallone - got an Oscar for his screenplay. He went on to be one of the top screenwriters in Hollywood. Me? I got the reputation of being a perfectionist who couldn't bring in the big box office bucks, even when they dumped an Oscar winning script in my lap. As I've said, making movies is a business. It may not be like making cars or computers, but it's still a business with a bottom line. When the powers that be decided I couldn't pad the bottom line, my phone stopped ringing. Oh, I got some little films, but they had limited distribution. Finally, I had to lower my price to even get those films. Eventually, even the little art film companies stopped calling. To say I had gotten both frustrated and jaded would be an understatement. The frustration led to a few bad habits involving booze and drugs. The jaded part led to a whole new career which, if not satisfying, was at least profitable. We live in an era of video recorders and hundreds of channels on satellite and cable. Everybody is looking for programming, and it doesn't have to be good. It just needs to be cheap and fill time. See where the jaded part comes in? So I found a whole new career making cheap films. I'd make a little adventure epic ala Roger Corman. You know the type - a lot of action and plenty of T&A to make the viewers forget that none of the players can act their way out of a paper bag. Then you sell them to direct-to-video outfits and cable networks. Then you take some of the action scenes and splice them to make them into mild porn films. That way, all you have to shoot are the really steamy parts. Of course, I never use my real name as director of the porn films. I do have some pride left, I thought to myself. Not much, but some. "Are you going to stay in there all day?" Apollo called out. I squeezed my eyes. There I was, leaning against the wall with one hand, my dick in the other dribbling the last few drops into the toilet bowl. I had practically ruminated my way back to Dreamland. I needed some sleep. I needed a shower. I needed a smoke and a line of coke. I needed... It took an hour, but I managed to get myself together. I looked more like those guys who spit on your windshield and try to clean it for a buck than I did a Hollywood director. My skin looked pasty under the fading Malibu tan. My gray hair was getting thinner, and my gut showed I hadn't gotten much exercise in years. I wore a shirt that although still flamboyant had not been stylish in five years and some tan Dockers. Deck shoes with no socks completed my ensemble. For accessories, I chose a pair of cheap sunglasses. Anything to block out the day. As I reemerged, looking - I thought - reasonably human, I lit a cigarette and was rewarded with my ever-increasing smoker's cough. "You need to put that out," Apollo told me. "The cab is here." "Cab? What's this about a fucking cab?" I muttered, taking another drag of smoke into my lungs. "Since when don't you have a car?" Apollo never seemed to drive the same car twice. "My chariot" he would always call whatever car he was driving. Leased them, he said whenever I would ask him why he seemed to have an unlimited supply of cars. I didn't argue, though. Wherever the money came from, our pictures always made plenty of money. That's what I really liked about him. We were "co-producers," but the truth was that Apollo handled the business end. All I did was direct. I liked it better that way. "My car isn't available now," he said simply. I knew better than to ask more. All I would get was another of his cryptic answers. Sometimes, I didn't know what to think of Apollo. It was as if the kid dropped down here from another planet. Maybe all that surfing affected his mind. As usual, he had taken care of everything. My bags were packed and being loaded in the trunk of the cab. I knew Apollo would have packed everything I needed. He always did. Damn, but the kid was a find! Janice was already snuggling her ample butt into the faded back seat. Why the hell had I agreed to let her star in my next picture anyway? Oh well, I thought, she'd provide a lot more entertainment than the girls out in... "Where the hell did you say we're going?" I asked Apollo. "Kansas?" "Oklahoma," he corrected. "Oh, yeah," I agreed, throwing my cigarette into the potted plant just outside my front door. I got a breath of sea air. It cleared my head a little bit. The house wasn't much, but the view of the Malibu coast from my deck was worth it. Now I'd be spending the next three weeks in Oklafuckinghoma making another flick for late night cable. What the hell - it was a living. Apollo from the front seat gave the driver our destination as I sagged back into the back seat next to Janice trying to make my head stop pounding. I nestled my head down into her soft breasts and sighed as she stroked the top of my head. I managed to actually fall asleep, hoping that the ride to the airport would take about three days. "Time to get out!" Apollo called cheerfully only what seemed to be seconds later. "Let me sleep," I grumbled, trying to burrow further into Janice's breasts. "Come on," he urged. "We're at the airport." I opened my eyes and looked around. "What airport? Where the hell is the terminal." "It's a private field," he explained. Yeah, real private, I thought. There was nothing there but a dirt strip that looked far too short for any airplane I had ever seen. Come to think of it, the plane wasn't any airplane I had ever seen. I didn't know much about private planes, but the aircraft poised for takeoff on the strip didn't look quite right. First, its lines were a little too clean and too streamlined. Next, it was hard to tell where the fuselage ended and the wings and tail began since there were no seams. The windows were tinted so heavily that I couldn't understand how the pilot could even see out. There appeared to be no windows at all in the passenger cabin. To top it off, the plane was gold in color rather than the expected silver or white, and there were no markings on it anywhere. "What the hell kind of a plane is this?" I asked him. He just grinned. "A very fast and reliable one. Now if you'll hurry along, we'll be on our way." Reluctantly I stumbled out of the cab with a little help from Janice. She steadied me up the stairs to the plane. Funny, I thought, I hadn't seen those stairs before, and I hadn't heard them extend from the plane. I had a bad feeling about that plane. Of course, I didn't like to fly in the first place - especially on private planes. Inside the plane would have done Air Force One proud. I swear it actually looked bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. It was bright as daylight, in spite of the lack of cabin windows, and the seats were so plush and luxurious that they made regular First Class airline seats look like camp stools. Gratefully I sank down into one and sighed. "Bloody Mary, sir?" "Huh?" I opened my eyes and saw a young woman dressed as a flight attendant. Where the hell had she come from? I hadn't seen her when I got on board. She was incredible. She was tall, dark hair, laughing eyes, and a figure that made Janice look like some cartoonist's version of a woman. I mean, she was absolutely perfect in her proportions. She reminded me a little of an actress Apollo had found for our last picture. We used her to play a Xena-type warrior princess, although this girl wasn't as statuesque. I wondered if the two were related. "Bloody Mary, sir?" she repeated with a twinkle in her eye. "Uh... sure, honey," I managed. "What's your name anyhow?" "Oh, just call me Di," she replied, placing a drink on the little tray next to my chair. "Just call me if you need anything else." "I can think of a few things I might need," I said with a leer. She didn't seem offended. She just gave me a little smile and walked to the rear of the plane. I swiveled my seat around. "Oh, Di..." She wasn't there. I wondered if she had just served the drinks and left. No, there was a compartment in the tail of the plane. It was probably a restroom, I reasoned. She must have gone in there. Funny I hadn't heard the door open or close. "Strap in," Apollo reminded me from the seat in front of me. He was helping Janice get her seat belt on in the seat across the aisle from him, and he appeared to be enjoying every second of it. We were airborne in moments. It was one of the smoothest takeoffs I could ever remember. Since there were no windows, it was hard to tell that we had even left the ground. No windows was fine with me, though. I've always hated looking out when I fly. I don't like to be reminded of how far down the ground is. "Is the rest of the cast and crew going to meet us in this... what was the name of the town again?" I asked. Apollo swiveled around to face me. "Ovid," he replied with a smile. "And yes, they're going to meet us day after tomorrow." "Mostly locals?" I asked. It wasn't an idle question. One of the reasons so many movies are made in the hinterlands is that it is easier to avoid paying union scale. Oh, the actors are Guild members: Screen Actor's Guild, but you don't have to have a union electrician, for example, every time you want to move a light. Low budget movies like mine had to cut corners to make a profit. One of the best ways was to keep the unions out of the mix. "Pretty much," he said. "You want to go over the shooting script?" "Sure," I agreed, accepting a copy from him. I knew the story well. After all, I had written it. It was the typical low budget stuff. The story revolved around a gang of toughs who had taken over a truck stop in a small Midwestern town. The hero - I had signed a former NFL linebacker for the part - was going to team up with a saucy heroine - Janice. She was to be a waitress in the truck stop who falls for the hero and helps him beat the bad guys. There would be lots of explosions, a fair amount of blood, a great rape scene where the waitress's best friend gets gang banged, and of course, a long steamy love scene between Janice and the hero. I had decided to make it a really steamy scene. It would be one of the scenes I showed potential distributors. The film wasn't a challenge. I had made at least half a dozen just like it. In fact, I had written this one over a weekend when I was about half stoned. I put a cigarette in my mouth, but Apollo grabbed it before I could light it. "Hey, what's the idea?" I yelled. "You can't smoke on board," Apollo explained. "It bothers some of the equipment on the plane." "Bullshit." "No, it's true," he insisted. "I think you noticed this plane is a little different." "Yeah. So?" "So to get the speed we need to get there in ninety minutes, we need to keep the cabin pressurized differently," he told me. "It has a higher oxygen content. Your cigarette might cause a nasty explosion." I shuddered. I didn't understand a word he was telling me, except that somehow, we were flying a lot faster than a commercial airliner and if I lit a match, we were going to be flying toast. "You gotta be shittin' me. Where the hell did you get this plane anyway?" I asked. He shrugged. "I know the owner. Don't worry, though. It's safe. Shall we go over the script?" I settled back into my seat. Damn! I could really use a smoke, I thought. Or something. I wondered if Apollo had packed any nose candy in my bag. He'd better have. I hated to think of being stuck in some little burg in the middle of nowhere without something to powder my nose with. Maybe I could get at the bag now. "Don't even think about it," Apollo said suddenly. I looked over at Janice. She was asleep, so he had to be addressing me. "What?" "The coke," Apollo explained. "There's some in your luggage, but you can't reach it now. The luggage is in a locked compartment that can only be accessed from outside." "What makes you think I was thinking about the coke?" I asked him, truly curious. Sometimes, Apollo could be downright spooky. "You were licking your lips," he told me. "You do it whenever you think you need coke. And by the way, you've been licking your lips a lot lately." "Hey, Sunshine, I thought we were going to go over the script," I said, trying to change the subject. "Fine," he agreed, relaxing in his seat as he looked down at the script. That's what I liked about Apollo, I thought as we looked over the script. He might not approve of what I did, but he never got too judgmental. When I mentioned that to him once, he had simply shrugged and told me that being judgmental was for others. It was funny, too, because he never touched drugs or smokes. Booze, sure - every now and then he'd take a glass of wine, but I never saw him drunk. As we paged through the script of Road Kill Babes - that was the tentative title of the flick - I had to pat myself on the back. It was better than most of the stuff I had written lately. Writing was actually my first love, but even in college, I seemed to show more promise as a director, so I had moved in that direction. My instructors said it was my artistic skills. I was pretty good at drawing, too, making more than one of them suggest I do art direction in films. But I digress. The story was actually pretty tight. There was just enough sex to get the soft porn guys interested. We'd make two versions of the film. One would be for general cable and satellite distribution. That would be the version with lots of noise and violence. Then we'd throw a few more sex scenes in the longer version, call it "the Director's Cut", and peddle it to video stores. What a business. "Are you sure this Ovid will be right for the film?" I asked him. I wasn't worried about what the locals thought of our little project. It would probably be like films I had made in some little towns on the fringes of LA. They would be flattered that their little hamlet was going to be in the movies. Everybody from the Mayor's wife to the town slut would be lined up just to be extras in the film. From our reception, you would think I was James Cameron in to do the follow-up to Titanic. We'd be well out of town before they realized our cheesy little movie wouldn't be shown on cable until long after these farm folks were in bed. "The town is perfect," Apollo told me, "except for the truck stop." "What do you mean 'except for the truck stop'?" I asked. "Janice's character works in a truck stop. That's in the script." "Yeah, except we don't use any trucks in the film - just bikes. Don't worry - I found a bar that will be perfect for it, and it'll cost us a lot less than a truck stop to rent," he explained. "How so?" "Well, since a bar doesn't pump gas, we won't have to pay the owner for sales lost at the pump. And since we'll get a lot of the filming done during the day, we won't cut into sales much. I know the owner, so I got us a good deal." My eyes narrowed. I smelled a kickback. Not that it mattered, I supposed. So what if Apollo made a little on the side? If the location was right for the film, it didn't matter. "Is there a big parking lot? We've got to have a big parking lot for the scene where Rex gets attacked by the bikers." Apollo smiled. He knew he had me. "The parking lot is huge, and it's right on the highway. Trust me, Phil. This is a great location." "So when does the rest of the crew arrive?" I asked him. Or had I already asked him that? Jeez, I couldn't remember jack shit. I had to start going easy on the wine. Or maybe the coke. "Cast and crew will be in day after tomorrow," he replied. "That gives us a day or so to scout out locations. Then we'll have a week to shoot." It sounded good to me. In and out in a little over a week. I could take anything for that long - even a little Oklahoma town. I hoped there was enough coke in my bag, though. I hated to admit it, but Apollo was right. I had been powdering my nose a little too much of late. Yeah, I knew it wasn't good for me, but somehow, I felt more in control when I took it. It allowed me to focus on the important shit and ignore the rest. At least that's what I told myself. By the time we had finished going through the script, I could hear the engines changing pitch and felt the plane dropping slightly. Apollo saw the alarm in my eyes. "Don't worry, Phil, the landing will be just as smooth as the takeoff." It was, too. In fact, Janice slept through the whole thing. I guessed I wore her out the night before. She needed her sleep. Well, she'd get her reward. She was a fairly decent actress as exotic actresses went, although that wasn't saying much. And she was great in the sack. A film like Road Kill Babes was about as far into respectability as her career would ever go. Maybe some young stud with a lot of money and an inexplicable desire to marry a "movie star" would notice her and take her off my hands. That's what happened to most girls like Janice. Either that or prostitution. I supposed there wasn't a lot of difference sometimes. The plane came to a complete stop and the hatch opened, seemingly automatically. "Great flight," I told Apollo. "May I should thank the pilot for a smooth ride." "I'll thank him for you," Apollo said smoothly. "He'll be a little busy for a while." We stepped off the plane and into the bright Midwestern sunlight. The air was hot and sticky, and unlike California, there was no gentle sea breeze to stir it around. I could feel perspiration coating my body. What a lousy place to make a movie, I thought to myself. Welcome to Hickville, USA. There was no terminal at the airport. It appeared to be strictly a private field, with a couple of hangars housing what seemed to be modest private planes. Our bird was by far the most impressive airplane on the tarmac. A young man in jeans and a red T-shirt that had "Oklahoma Sooners" emblazoned on it in white was removing our luggage from the belly of the plane and placing it in the trunk of a white Ford Taurus. Great, I thought. The best Apollo could do was a lousy Ford. I missed my Beemer. Then I took a closer look at the man. There seemed to be something wrong about him. It was almost as if he was transparent. It couldn't be, I realized. It had to be a trick of the heat compounded by the illegal substances still not flushed out of my bloodstream. At least the car was air conditioned, I noted as I slumped into the back seat, Janice sliding in next to me. She looked as if she had been dropped on an alien world. Janice was even more of a city kid than I was. Raised in LA, she had never been in the wide open spaces before. She obviously didn't know what to think about it. Well, I thought with a chuckle, there were a lot of things Janice didn't know what to think about. Apollo slid behind the wheel. "We're lucky - the weather can be pretty nasty this time of year." "And this isn't nasty?" I growled, thinking that it was only June and yet it was uncomfortably hot and sticky. I would have bet that by the Fourth of July, they could cook hot dogs just by placing them in the sun on the sidewalk. "I'm talking about storms," he explained, slipping the car in gear. "We were lucky we didn't have any storms flying in today." "Storms?" "Sure," he said easily. "You know, this part of the Midwest gets some huge thunderstorms this time of year. A lot of them produce tornadoes." "Yeah, I know," I agreed uncomfortably. I had seen Twister, and come to think of it, that had been filmed in Oklahoma. "Look, you don't think we'll have anything like a tornado here, do you?" "No," he laughed. "Scared?" "Of course not," I lied. "I'm just worrying about anything that might upset our shooting schedule. You're sure there's no chance of storms?" "Not in Ovid," he replied confidently. "We're protected." Protected? I wondered what he meant by that. I supposed it had something to do with topography. I seemed to remember hearing someplace that some areas tended to have less chance of the violent winds than others. I hoped he was right. I didn't like storms any more than I liked flying. I think it was because both were pretty much out of my control. That's why I had chosen directing over other paths like writing, even though I was probably best at writing. When I was directing, I was in control. I hated the idea of being out of control. We drove into Ovid, and to say that I wasn't impressed would be like saying water wasn't dry. As a city kid growing up on the coast, I had only seen places like Ovid from the First Class section of an airliner at thirty-five thousand feet. From there, they appeared as neat little grids of squared blocks with one or two main streets and a lot of nondescript houses surrounded by trees. Up close, it looked about the same. As we approached, I could see only a couple of buildings poking above the taller trees, and they appeared to be no more than three stories tall. We were met at first by a collection of metal business buildings with stucco fronts and signs that proclaimed them to be such things as Ovid Well Digging Services and Ovid Farm Implements. There were a couple of car lots and some little fast food joints, the most prominent of which was Rusty's Burger Barn. Hell, I thought, that place is probably the closest thing they have to a five star restaurant. "Are you sure you grew up here?" I asked Apollo as he pulled up in front of a modest motel that declared itself to be the Ovid Inn. "Well, I wasn't here very long," he admitted. "My parents moved around a lot." "That explains it," I muttered. There was nothing about Apollo - even his name - that smacked of a small farm town upbringing. When I had first met him, I had assumed he was, like me, a Californian through and through. It was hard for me to imagine him sauntering down the streets of Ovid on a sultry afternoon. Of course, if he did, I'm sure all the little farm girls would have been wetting their panties just to get a smile from him. Hell, the California girls did. Reluctantly I stepped back out into the Ovid heat. It wasn't quite as bad in town as it had been at the airport. More trees, I supposed, to keep it cool. Or maybe I was just getting used to it. I hoped not. The only thing I wanted out of Ovid was out of Ovid. We'd try to shoot the picture in seven days and get out. The lobby of the Ovid Inn was as nondescript as the rest of the place. It consisted of a bulletin board with the names of local restaurants and attractions, a couple of cheap chairs that looked to be about one step above metal folding chairs, and a reception desk, clean except for a pen, a bell, and a name plate that read "Z Proctor, Proprietor." There was no one at the desk, but from a room behind, I could hear the sound of a television blaring over the soft hum of a window air conditioner. I found myself wishing the air conditioner were in the reception area, as it was hot and stuffy. Apollo rang the bell while Janice and I wilted into the two chairs. In a short time, a tall, wiry man about forty with graying hair, thin on top, and a bushy little mustache meandered out of the back room. All at once, his face broke into a smile. "Well, Apollo, haven't seen you in a coon's age. Where have you been?" "California," Apollo answered with a disarming grin. "Been doing a little surfing and making a few movies, Zach." Well, now I knew what the "Z" stood for. And was it my imagination, or had Apollo picked up a little Oklahoma twang? The proprietor looked us over. "So how many rooms will you all need?" "Just one," Apollo replied. "My two friends here will be staying together. I'll be staying out with my dad." I hadn't realized Apollo's father still lived in Ovid. I supposed his dad would be somewhere on my payroll, too. That was the way things went when you produced movies. There was more nepotism in the movie business than anywhere else I could think of. "I got a great room for you folks," Zach said. "The beds are something special." "None of that, Zach," Apollo cautioned. "Just give them normal rooms." I looked questioningly at Apollo. "Trust me on this one," he said. "Well, all right," the proprietor agreed, pulling out two keys. "Room one seventeen. It's on this level two doors down from the Coke machine." Apollo took the keys with another smile. "Thanks, Zach." Apollo pulled the car up in front of the room, right next to a police car with "City of Ovid" emblazoned in black on the front doors. City my ass, I thought. There was a cop standing next to the car, lean and alert. He wore mirrored sunglasses that hid his eyes, and his blue uniform shirt was creased with military precision. He looked almost like a Marine standing on the parade ground as he watched us walk up to the car. Apollo nodded a friendly greeting to the cop as he unlocked the trunk, and the cop nodded back without a word. "Friend of yours?" I asked him under my breath as I pulled my bag out of the trunk. "An old friend," Apollo confirmed quietly. "Then what - " I never got to finish asking the question. I was going to ask what the cop was doing just standing there watching us unload. But as I started to ask, disaster struck. One of the compartments in my suitcase was unzipped, and a small, clear plastic bag containing about half a pound of snow white powder dropped to the asphalt with a discernable plop. Shit, I thought to myself as I watched the cop's eyes move purposefully from my face to the object on the ground. I had to make it look as if nothing was wrong. Maybe he hadn't realized what the bag contained. After all, this was a small town. I knew even small towns had a drug problem, but maybe he wouldn't recognize it as a bag of cocaine. I had no choice but to bluff my way through it. "What's in the bag, sir?" the cop said calmly. His voice was as strong and authoritative as any LA cop's. "Oh, that?" I said, I hoped equally calmly. "That's just special body powder. You know, to cool the skin? I have it specially blended for me." No city cop would have bought that, but I was hoping he knew who we were and would believe movie people were just strange enough to have body powder blended especially for them. He put out his hand. "May I see it?" "It's just body powder," I told him, unwilling to relinquish the bag. My heart was pounding. Two decades of cocaine use without a single incident, and I was about to be busted by a tank town cop. "May I see it?" he repeated with just a bit more menace in his tone. Reluctantly, I handed him the bag. He hefted it in his hand, finally opening the zip-lock top and dipping his finger into the substance. He lifted the finger to his tongue, placing a small amount there. He looked up at me. "Interesting body powder. You should tell whoever makes it for you that cocaine is an illegal substance. He should find a substitute." "Look, officer," I said, reaching slowly for the wallet in my rear pocket, taking it out carefully so he could see it wasn't a threat. "I'm sure we can work something out." "Look, Phil," Apollo whispered, "that's not a good idea with Officer Mercer." "Are you trying to bribe me?" this Officer Mercer asked. "Oh, no," I said quickly. "I just thought you would need some identification." I handed him the wallet. "You see, we're here to make a movie and - " "I'm going to have to ask you to come with me," he said, opening the back door of the police car and motioning me into the caged back seat. "You, too, Miss," he said with a nod to Janice. "Why me?" she squealed. "It was his suitcase. There's nothing in my suitcase. I mean, there's no drugs." She looked worried, but I doubted if any of the little sex toys she always carried in her bag were illegal in Ovid. Still, there was no telling. This was the Bible Belt. Maybe just being from California was illegal here. "Please, both of you, get in." It was more than a request. Somehow, it was an order which had to be obeyed. We both slid into the rear seat together. I think we were both more frightened than we had ever been before. "Apollo," I yelled, "get us a lawyer and meet us." "I will," he promised. As we drove away, I wondered suddenly why the cop hadn't hauled Apollo in, too. Then I remembered that Apollo was from Ovid. Maybe this dad of his was a prominent figure. Cops never liked to pick up relatives of prominent people in any town large or small. Maybe his dad could help us. Suddenly I wasn't quite as worried. With any luck at all, we'd be free in a couple of hours and back to making a movie. I had a lot of locations to scout before the rest of the crew and cast arrived. We drove further into town along what appeared to be the main highway business street, populated with gas stations, fast food restaurants, and even a small strip shopping center. There was even a place called Randy Andy's, which appeared to be a small strip club. Although it was only mid afternoon, there were already a few cars and pickup trucks parked in front of the place. I suspected this was the place Apollo had chosen for our film's heroine to be working in. My director's mind went into high gear, sizing up the property. Yes, it should work. It was just sleazy enough that it should work. Then I started noticing something really weird about Ovid. I saw several people walking down the broad sidewalks of Ovid on that sultry afternoon. Some looked as normal as could be. Others though, had that same almost transparent appearance as the guy who had helped us with our luggage at the airport. I nudged Janice as we stopped at a stop light. "Look at those kids," I told her, motioning to three young girls in shorts and T-shirts who were waiting to cross the street. "Notice anything odd about them?" She peered at them for a moment. "Aren't they a little young for you?" she asked. "I mean, Jeez, Phil. They don't even have boobs yet." "Not that," I growled in frustration. "Look at them. I mean, really look at them." She did, her brow furrowing. Thinking had never appeared to be Janice's strong suit. "So? They're kids - little girls. What else am I supposed to see?" Our car pulled away, and I slumped down into the seat. Maybe my doctor was right. He said I wasn't taking care of myself. Too much booze and drugs. Maybe I was starting to hallucinate. Finally we came upon a gray granite building with Doric columns in front. The words "City Hall" were carved into the granite above the columns. It looked like every other small town city hall I had ever seen in the movies. There was what I presumed to be a state flag flying next to the American flag. That and a few flowers growing in a bed next to the well- manicured lawn next to the parking lot gave the place a little color. Other than that, the whole place was drab gray. "Come with me," Officer Mercer said, opening the back door for us. We followed him into the building. Although it was mid afternoon and we were obviously in a police station, there appeared to be no other officers present. I expected to be taken into an office where I would be advised of my rights and given the opportunity to see a lawyer. No such luck, though. I was suddenly aware that he was taking us into a small block of neat, gray cells. "Now wait a minute!" I barked, coming to a halt. Janice, who had been clutching me fearfully practically fell down when she collided with me. "You can't just throw us into a cell. We have our rights." I gritted my teeth as Officer Mercer gave me the faintest of smiles. "You're in Ovid now," he said, as if that somehow explained everything. "I don't care where we are," I argued. "This is still the United States. You can't just thrown us in jail. We have laws in this country." His smile was wider now. Suddenly I felt my legs begin to move. I hadn't tried to move them. In fact, I had been determined to stop where I was. Let him try to move me. Then I would have a case for police brutality. But for some reason, I had begun walking toward the cell. I tried to stop, but it was if I was only an observer in my own body. I tried to yell in protest, but my voice seemed to be useless as well. I could still turn my head. I saw Janice, a terrified look on her face, slowly walking into the cell next to mine. There were fearful tears streaming down her cheeks, and I could tell she had no more control over her body than I did. Then I lost control of my head as well. I was forced to look straight ahead at the uncomfortable cot bolted to the wall along the far side of the cell. I walked to the cot and sat down, completely unable to stop myself. "You should be comfortable here," Officer Mercer said to us. "Your trial will be at ten in the morning. Rest well until then." With a sudden grunt, I realized my voice had been restored. "You can't do this!" I yelled at the retreating footsteps. "Wait until my lawyer gets finished with you!" Of course my lawyer was fifteen hundred miles away - maybe more. I had to hope that Apollo would be able to get me a local lawyer. That would probably be better anyway, I realized. A local lawyer could schmooze the Judge and maybe get us off. I mean, who was to say I knew about the drugs? I would just claim someone put them there without my knowledge. I would agree to pay a hefty fine. Then I had to get back to work. We were going to make Ovid famous, after all. Their little town would be in the movies. How much of a fine would they need? Five thousand? Ten thousand? Fifty thousand? It didn't matter. I'd pay it. I would just take it out of the film budget somewhere. All I had to do was wait until Apollo showed up with a lawyer. "Phil, I'm scared," Janice whimpered from the next cell. "What did he do to us?" Yeah, I thought, remembering suddenly how I had been marched into the cell. How did he do that to us? Hypnosis? I supposed it was possible. What else could it have been? I had been determined not to march into the cell - yet I had. Sure, it had to be hypnosis, I told myself. If it wasn't hypnosis, it would have to be magic, and everybody knew there was no such thing - right? I sighed. At least the cell was clean. I bounced up and down on the cot. It was actually fairly comfortable. Well, it wasn't the first time I had been in jail for drugs. There was that time five years earlier in Mexico when I ended up in jail. Take my word for it - the worst US jail has got to be better than the best Mexican jail. As I thought about it, it had only taken a thousand US currency to get out of that jam. That is, a thousand plus the cops kept all my coke. "Phil?" It was Apollo's voice. "Back here, Sunshine," I called happily. Suddenly there he was in front of my cell, a wide grin on his face. "What the hell are you grinning at?" I snapped. "It's just good to see you," he explained, wrapping his hands around the bars. "Your lawyer will be here in the morning before trial." "Now wait a minute," I said. "That would mean we have to stay in jail overnight. What happened to bail?" "No bail in Ovid," he told me. "The Judge won't allow it. He doesn't believe in it. He always says swift justice is the best alternative to bail." "Swift my ass," I growled. "If I gotta stay here overnight, it isn't swift enough. Who is this Judge anyway?" Apollo thought for a moment. "Well, let's just say he runs things around here. I'd better warn you, he doesn't like drugs. By the way, you've never dealt drugs, have you?" I puffed up to my full six one height to face Apollo. "Who do you think I am? Of course I've never dealt drugs. I've been generous to my friends, but I've never charged anyone a penny." "That's good," he said with a nod. "In that case, you'll probably be okay. If you had ever dealt drugs, things would go badly for you." "Things are going badly now," I observed. "I don't see how they could go much worse." "Oh, they could," he said with a grin as he pushed away from the cell door. "Take my word for it, things could be a lot worse." "Hey, wait!" I yelled, but he had moved out of my line of sight. "Who are you talking to?" Janice asked meekly from the next cell. "Apollo," I told her. "Didn't you see him?" "No." How had she missed him? He had to walk right past her cell. I was starting to get worried. There was something that went well beyond strange going on in Ovid, and we seemed to be right at the center of it. I was starting to think only the Judge, whoever he was, would have the answers. At least they fed us well. Dinner was delivered to our cells. It consisted of a small steak, some French fries, and a slice of homemade cake. The steak was incredible, but there was no file in the cake. Of most interest to me, though, was the girl who delivered the meal through the slot in the bars was one of those transparent people. I stared impolitely at her as she handed me the tray. She noticed, looking up at me in puzzlement. "Is something wrong, Mister?" Her voice sounded normal. For that matter, she looked normal. She was just an average looking girl, slim, reasonably well built, with brown hair and a few freckles. She wore a plaid short sleeved shirt and jeans, and if it weren't for her slight transparency, I wouldn't have been able to describe her five minutes after she left the jail. "I...ah...was just wondering," I began uncertainly. "Has anybody ever told you that they could... well, see through you? I don't mean really see through you, but - " She looked down nervously, checking to see if her shirt was properly buttoned. "I don't mean like that," I said, trying to clarify my question. She looked at me in confusion. It was obvious that she didn't have the slightest notion what I was talking about. She looked solid enough. I mean, she was able to lift my dinner tray without a problem. And it wasn't as if she was ghost-like. It was just that if I concentrated very hard, I could almost see what was directly behind her. "Look, I'm sorry," I finally said. "I just meant that..." She looked up at me with a grin. "Oh, you just wanted to make me think the twins were peeking out." "The twins?" "Sure," she said with a grin as she bounced slightly to make her breasts bounce up and down. "I heard all about you. You're that friend of Apollo's who makes movies. You thinking about putting somebody like me in your movie?" Another time and another place, the conversation would have probably led to an interesting evening. We each would have gotten what we wanted. I would have gotten laid, and she would have ended up with a walk-on so she could brag to all of her friends that she knew a famous director who put her in one of his films. Hey, I wasn't the only sleazy director to play my part in that story. It had been going on since Edison opened his first studio back in New Jersey. It probably even went back a lot further than that. Gee, Mr. Shakespeare, what would I have to do to get a part in your play? Of course, come to think of it, boys played the parts of girls then. Well, maybe old Willie liked boys. Who knew? Well, there were steel bars between me and the would-be starlet, so all I could do was say, "Show up on the set and I'll see what I can do." That made her happy, and she bounced away happy. I wondered what she would look like on screen. Would she look normal or transparent? With a shudder, I wondered if she would even show up at all. "Are you okay, Janice?" I asked as I hungrily wolfed down my dinner. "I'm not talking to you," she replied quietly. "Why not?" I managed to say over another bite of steak. "You got me into this mess with your drugs," she replied. "It seems to me you always use some of them," I pointed out. "Yes, but they were in your luggage," she responded, as if this somehow proved her point. Female logic, I thought. It had to be an oxymoron. I actually got a good night's sleep that night. There was something peaceful about the jail. It was quiet - none of the expected late-night drunks being rolled in to sleep it off. In fact, I didn't hear a thing except for Janice moving around in her cell. Also, the cot was more comfortable than I thought. So it wasn't the Waldorf, but when Officer Mercer woke me up the next morning, I actually felt rested and ready to go. Besides, I thought to myself, my last drink had been on the plane and my last line of coke almost a day and a half ago. Come to think of it, I hadn't had a smoke since California. Maybe all that had something to do with how I felt. Janice and I were led to a small conference room near the cell block. Waiting for us was an attractive woman with papers spread out before her. She wore a powder blue suit and white silk blouse. Although sitting, I estimated her to be about five six or seven with a nice figure and cute face, surrounded by long, well-styled brown hair. As she looked up at us with a smile, I could tell she was wearing contacts. As a director, I could always tell that. Contacts force you to stare just a little bit more. One other thing about her - she wasn't transparent. "Hi, I'm Susan Jager," she said pleasantly with just a trace of the ever- present Oklahoma twang, rising to offer us a well-manicured hand. I noticed as I took it that I had been right about both her height and her figure. "I'm your attorney - with your approval of course." Janice took her hand with reserve, sizing Susan up like one wild cat studying another. Of course, Susan was everything that Janice wasn't. Susan was a trained professional, obviously intelligent and sophisticated. Janice was... well, Janice was Janice. I found myself wondering if Susan was as great in bed as Janice. Janice might have had her there. Then again, maybe not. "I'm sure you'll be fine," I replied enthusiastically. It was no act. What Judge in the world could help but be impressed with someone like Susan? She was the answer to my prayers. She was a local attorney, she was attractive, and I had a gut feeling she knew her stuff. A woman like her was wasted in a burg like Ovid. "Then let's get down to business," she said a little primly, taking her seat once more. "Mr. Malone, these are very serious charges." I leaned back in one of the chairs. "Oh come now, Susan - may I call you Susan?" She nodded. "A lot of people use drugs," I went on. "It isn't as if this were heroin or something. It's just plain old coke. Why, I wouldn't be surprised to learn that half of Congress uses this stuff. It's a recreational drug and I don't have to steal to pay for it. Surely that can't be that serious here." "Have you ever sold drugs?" she asked quietly. "Sold? Of course not. I make movies for a living; I don't deal in drugs." "Be careful now," she cautioned. "The Judge will know if you're lying. If you've ever dealt in drugs, I need to know right now." I leaned forward. "Ms. Jager - Susan - I have never in my life sold drugs." Of course I had provided them to my cast upon occasion, but I had never sold them. Come to think of it, Apollo had asked the same question. Apparently this Judge was a real hard ass when it came to drug dealers. "All right, then we have a fighting chance," she concluded. Janice frowned. "A chance for what?" she asked nervously. "A chance to make sure you are still human at the end of the day," Susan said. As I started to speak, she raised her hand to stop me. "Don't ask now. We have to be in court in just a few minutes. For your own well being though, I caution you, this court is not like any court you have ever seen before. The law in Ovid works a little differently. Be respectful - very, very respectful - and tell only the truth. I'll do what I can for you, but if you annoy the Judge, my hands will be tied and you could be in grave danger. Do you both understand?" I don't think either of us had any inkling of what she was saying, except for the part about being in grave danger. And what the hell was she talking about when she said that bit about being human at the end of the day? Then I remembered a movie I had made a few years back. It was called Magicmaster. It was the story of a wizard who could change men into beasts. I marketed it directly to Cinemax. They eat that sort of crap up. The X-rated version was called Lustmaster's Magic. Is that what Ovid was all about? Come on, Phil, I told myself, that kind of crap only happens in the movies. I wouldn't have imagined such a thing a day before, but I had seen and even touched transparent people. There was something very odd about Ovid. I resolved to follow Susan's advice. The courtroom looked like the courtroom I had used in Justice Takes a Holiday. It was really pretty well done for a small town. Either there was big money in Ovid or the Judge had a lot of clout. The room was empty of spectators, though, except for a cute blonde who sat demurely in the last row of the visitor's gallery. Nice legs, I thought as I walked past her. I gave her a smile which was pleasantly returned. "Who's she?" I asked Susan as we settled into comfortable chairs at the defense table. Susan laughed. "Oh, that's Cindy - Cindy Patton. I don't think you want anything to do with her. She's married with two kids." "Married, huh?" Janice jabbed my shoulder angrily. Now to be honest, I wasn't really interested in this Cindy. Since I had met Janice, I had become a one-girl guy - at least most of the time. "She's also the Judge's assistant," Susan told me. "All rise!" I looked up, surprised to see Officer Mercer acting as bailiff. He's playing a dual part, I thought. Maybe Ovid didn't have a very big budget after all. The Judge was fairly impressive. If I had been casting for a Judge, I would have been happy to pick this one. He was middle aged - forty-five or fifty - with mostly brown hair accented by an occasional touch of gray. He wore gold framed glasses which gave him a distinguished, almost scholarly appearance. His black robe was neatly pressed, and the shirt cuffs showing out of its sleeves were crisp and brilliantly white. "Be seated," he ordered as he sat. His voice was deep and commanding. I was duly impressed. From the bench, the Judge shuffled purposely though a small sheaf of papers. "Officer Mercer, what is the first case to come before the court today?" "We have a drug possession case, your honor," he intoned formally. "Ah, yes," the Judge agreed. "We have the People versus Phillip Malone on a charge of drug possession and a Ms. Miriam Finklestein as accessory to drug possession." I looked at Janice who was wincing. That was her real name? Miriam Finklestein? "Your Honor!" Susan broke in. "Yes, Ms Jager?" "Your Honor, I am not aware of an accessory charge that can relate to drug possession," she explained. To my surprise, the Judge actually smiled. I could tell he actually liked Susan. I wondered if she was giving him a little on the side. "Perhaps you're right," he said finally. "Officer Mercer, I'm surprised at you. You've brought this young lady up on a nonexistent charge." Officer Mercer showed no change of expression as the Judge went on, "Ms. Finklestein - or if you prefer, Ms. Lamuse - will you please approach the bench." Nervously, but with visible relief that apparently no charges would be brought against her, Janice walked meekly to face the Judge, Susan at her side. "Ms. Lamuse," the Judge began, "what is your IQ?" "Uh... my IQ, Your Honor?" The Judge nodded. "Yes, my dear - your Intelligence Quotient." "Uh... one hundred and eighty, Your Honor." I nearly fell out of my chair. Janice was a genius? My Janice? The girl who could orgasm on command in front of a camera? The girl that had never uttered an intelligent thought in my presence was a mental marvel? It couldn't be! "Yet you have chosen as a career being an pornographic actress," the Judge mused. "Could you explain why?" "Well," Janice began, "I guess I just thought this was what was expected of me. I mean, I was a blonde with big ti - breasts and all. And I could memorize lines and deliver them well, so..." "And you had a father who didn't think much of women," the Judge continued for her. "In fact, he even told you that women were only good for one thing, didn't he?" "Yes," Janice murmured. "And he showed you what that one thing was on a number of occasions before you were even out of high school, didn't he?" "Yes," Janice agreed, her head hanging low. This was a Janice I had never seen before. I had no idea that she was so smart, or that her father had taken advantage of her. What a prick! If he were standing in front of me, I thought, I'd kick him in the balls for what he had done to his daughter. Hey, I wasn't perfect, but guys like her father made me want to puke. The Judge apparently was having similar thoughts. "It is too bad that you father is no longer living," he told her. "I would enjoy dispensing justice to such a man. But that isn't possible. Now we must deal with what he has done. Now Ms. Lamuse, consider carefully your answer to my next questions. Cocaine was found in the suitcase of Mr. Malone. Did you have any reason to suspect that it was there?" There was a heavy silence before Janice finally replied meekly, "Yes, Your Honor." "And do you use cocaine, Ms Lamuse?" Susan looked ready to say something, but she bit her tongue and remained silent. "Yes, Your Honor," Janice replied. "Then by all rights, since you shared a room with Mr. Malone, you were in possession of the drugs as well." "I guess so, Your Honor," Janice said with a small sigh. I had to give it to him, he knew his stuff. I could see Susan looking a bit crestfallen. She had almost gotten her client off, but the Judge had found another avenue to make the charge stick. Susan had been right. This Judge was a dangerous character. "Don't worry, Ms. Lamuse," the Judge said gently. "Justice in Ovid is not without compassion where compassion is deserved." Then he did something unexpected. He began to chant. It sounded like Latin, but it could have been anything, I suppose. Languages were never my strong suit. Whatever it was, it seemed to have a noticeable effect on Janice. Her body began to shimmer until it had become somewhat indistinct. Then it began to grow smaller and darker. Where a buxom blonde had stood moments before, a brunette, somewhat flat chested of no more than fifteen or so now was in her place, and she seemed to be slowly growing still smaller. "So, what do you want to be when you grow up, Stephanie?" the Judge asked, looking down at the new girl. "A nurse!" the girl who had been Janice said in a childish voice, sounding no more than five or so. She swayed back and forth, as little girls do. "A nurse, eh?" the Judge said. "But you're very smart, Stephanie. Have you ever thought about being a doctor?" Janice was smaller still, no more than ten now as a thoughtful look crossed her face. "No..." The Judge smiled. The little girl that Janice had become was smaller still - perhaps six or seven, wearing a pink T-shirt, white shorts, and sandals. She was not an unattractive little girl, but it was obvious that she would never grow up to be the bombshell Janice had been. "Well, you should," he said. "You know, you're a very smart little girl,