Washed Up and Laid Bare

The Speech

Lana headed for drinks with Phoebe that evening, telling all about her meeting. Eddie joined them, buying a round of drinks and introducing his new obsession, a bartender called Felix. As he swooned over the blue eyed beauty, pouring cocktails and winking at Eddie, Lana asked Phoebe about Robert. She was an encyclopaedia of all things Hollywood, and as soon as she mentioned Robert Swanson, Phoebe spat her drink everywhere. Eddie jumped away from the bar, arm dripping with Phoebe's sex on the beach.

'Let me dry you off.' Felix offered, and looking like the cat who got the cream, Eddie disappeared with a coy smile.

'Did you say Robert Swanson? As in legendary lothario, Robert Swanson?'

Another facet to Phoebe's personality was that she could be dramatic sometimes. In fact right now, she would be perfect for the stage, her shocked face and dramatic pauses.

'Yes, I said Robert Swanson. I haven't seen him in anything. Should I be worried?'

Phoebe raised her eyebrows coquettishly. 'Is he still gorgeous? Tanned, muscly and charismatic?'

Lana wondered whether Phoebe had had too much to drink. Birthday or no birthday, maybe it was time to take her home.

'No, he's a complete slimeball, but I can't wait to start working for him.'

Her friend motioned to another bar tender. She'd downed yet another drink.

'Let me tell you everything you need to know about Mr Swanson.' She began. 'He was like completely drugs dependant, he's been involved in loads of bar brawls over the years and his ex assistant is sueing him for sexual harassment.'

Lana laughed shortly. She wasn't surprised. He probably hoped that one of the Playboy bimbos got the position so he could get himself a little treat at work. He was in for a big shock if he tried anything with her. Money or no money, fame or no fame she found him repellent. She didn't think he'd come onto her, thus far she got the impression he was not taken with Frank's choice of employee.

She concentrated on having a night of karaoke, cocktails and gossip with her friends before heading home. She was to start at eight am the following day, and she would be prompt, punctual and by the end of the week, even a low life like Swanson would be kissing her feet.

She didn't sleep well, but sleep was for the weak, wasn't it? The underachievers who existed on excuses and missed opportunities? She spent most of the night making a plan of action that would garner the best results in the shortest amount of time. Frank had asked her to drive to his house, where she would brief Swanson on their next move. She pulled into a parking space outside a modest two storey house, in a suburban sliver of town that she knew was alien to the likes of Swanson. Dressed in a dark grey trouser suit, and black ballet flats, she felt invincible. With no skin on show there was nothing to distract her boss should he suddenly become amorous.

Frank greeted her at the door, and she followed him into the kitchen, where a sleepy Robert sat propped on a breakfast stool drinking coffee from a chipped mug. Frank made her a cup, and then excused himself while he got ready for work. Leaving her alone with Swanson was like being alone with a coiled snake. As she lowered her bag onto the counter he shot her a wary glance. She would not be intimidated. Sure he was tall, his muscles less defined than perhaps they once were but he still cut an oppressive figure.