CHAPTER EIGHT JET-SET EXTRAS

Read this and find out the story behind the title 'Too Old to be a Hooker…Too Young to be a Madam'.
If you want to find out more about the steamy, salacious sex in 'Too Old to be a Hooker…Too Young to be a Madam' for your beach read, you'll have to buy my novel. These are just snippets to entice you! Elissa Eaton

“This novel should be in every hotel room next to the bible.”
Jason Schafer, Screenwriter, Trick

“This book makes Sex in the City look like The Golden Girls.”
- amazon.com reviewer

CHAPTER EIGHT
JET-SET EXTRAS

If fame belonged to me, I couldn’t escape her. If she didn’t, the longest day would pass me on the chase.
Emily Dickinson

The raspy, steel pipes of Aretha Franklin belting out ‘Respect’ blared from my ghetto-blaster. Chelsea Flowers, Yolanda Washington and I danced around the stage lip-synching to the song. A carnival atmosphere and neon lights, glamour and glitz was a fun way to start the day.
On an empty soundstage at Sunset Lark Studios we jet-set extras were on an interview for a rock musical film about vampire priests, pimps and hookers. Blue and silver spotlights streaked across the stage. The location was Hollywood and sprinkled on the ground were gold stars and glitter. On stage left was a poster of a fire engine, sunrise, sky, street lanterns and strobe lights.
It was an early autumn afternoon. In the background the assistant director, Gimp the Pimp the dwarf was limping, chewing an apple, flirting while passing out vouchers.
I was wearing a lavender, silk corset from Trashy Lingerie trimmed in lace clinging to my voluptuous breasts. Thigh high mesh stockings under black leather stiletto boots to the knee looked very enticing. Boa feathers hung over my shoulder and fuchsia roses were woven into my wild, blonde hair. My eyelids were covered with iridescent shocking pink shadow and black eyeliner. I walked out onto the set proudly pouting my vividly painted lips.
Chelsea wore an elastic tube top and tight, spandex pants. Big Iron and Antonio were dressed as pimps. Other atmosphere actors were milling around in the background.
The movie star look-a-likes sipped coffee and ate Danishes. Chelsea, Yolanda and I sat on box crates, laughing, drinking Cold Duck and gossiping. Yolanda had white makeup on her face and wore a platinum, Harlow wig with rollers in it, four inch heels and a silver transparent plastic pantsuit, so tight that she could hardly sit down.
Chelsea Flowers dangled a long rhinestone cigarette holder from the side of her mouth. Flame and smoke ignited, singeing my hair.
“Chelsea, my afro's on fire,” I screamed pulling a hand mirror out of my purse, checking out the damage.
“I'd kill to have your big hair dolly. I don't know how you get into your car. So sorry, love.”
That bitch did that deliberately so she’d get the line today, I thought.
“You think you have problems, April,” she said. “I have a five a.m. call tomorrow in Bell. Weather permitting I'm going to carry toilet paper in and out of Pic 'n' Save. I wonder if I need my green card?” she said sarcastically.
“Dig this, did ya see that guy that's dressed as a pimp? His name's Big Iron. He's a babe, check out those cowboy boots wit' them Playboy bunnies on them,” Yolanda laughed.
“He looks like another dangerous man,” Chelsea said. “How ghastly.”
“I don't mind as long as he's dangerously armed with a big dick,” I answered, shaking my hips from side to side.
“He'll most likely become aroused and want to lick off the tattoos I'm pasting on your nips. Hold still, Miss American Pie.” said Chelsea.
A Brit from the streets of Soho with a passport and a hooker mentality, Chelsea had all the glamour of old Hollywood, youth and the bitchiness of Bette Davis on a bad day. Her platinum hair shone brightly on the well-lit soundstage.
Yolanda Washington approached us giving me a Hollywood hug.
“Hey girls, I hope they don't keep us waiting too long before they decide who gets the gig,” she said looking concerned, walking stiffly. “I can hardly breathe. I'd better make this interview today or I'll be Broke City.”
“You look like a common-looking wench. Some girls have no shame,” Chelsea said mockingly.
“Get outta my business. You're an X-rated b-movie, Miss Flowers,” Yolanda said arrogantly.
“Yo Yo, I can see your nipples right through the costume, but it's cool. Cher made it okay for girls like us to feel free about our bodies,” I said.
“You mean tacky Cher gave you a license to be a highly evolved slut,” Chelsea laughed.
Yolanda Washington was the baby in our group. She was a beautiful, illiterate, back-stabbing, Black barbarian from New Orleans with sidewalk gray eyes straight out of rehab.

“What's up wit' ya sister. He's a brother. I go mow mow over his high tight little ass, but he don't do me right an' I ain't nobody's hoochie coochie mamma. The dude's trying to run a game on me,” she said angrily.
“Yolanda, sometimes batteries are better than brawn.” I shared reassuringly.
“Check out the Jack Rabbit. You’ll have friend for life,” Chelsea shared.
“That’s ‘til the batteries or the electricity goes out in the apartment,” Yolanda laughed.
“That doesn’t bother April. I rang her up one evening in the middle of a power outage and heard a buzzing noise in the background. That mad bird was using her electric toothbrush,” Chelsea teased.
“What kinda goddess are you anyway, Miss Thing!” Yolanda snarled.
“I had Jack last night. He was so sensational that I made connections with ghosts from the past,” I sighed.
“Must have been some of your old boyfriends, I presume,” Chelsea said. “I much prefer a sexually well educated man with a manicure.”
“Hot tip, Chels. The Pleasure Chest just launched their three inch executive model for women like you who only date professional men,” I said throwing her an air kiss. “And Jack Rabbit would give your ex-boyfriends some stiff competition, Yo Yo,” I said trying to keep a straight face. “Wake up girls, since the turn of the century, vibrators were used to calm down hysterical unfulfilled women just like us.”
Yolanda looked up from reading her Essence Magazine.
“Check out this babe.”
My gay boyfriend, Diva Boy Brian, interrupted our conversation.
“You look bitchin’, bitch. April, I love your big hair today. It has a life of its own. I have to share this experience with you,” he whispered in my ear. “I had a dream about Dennis Hopper last night. He was wearing boxer shorts. He told me that he'd let me see it if I didn't tell. I just fell in love when I saw Easy Rider.”
“Ya'll got a little sugar in your tank,” Yolanda teased.

I called casting quickly before they started the scene. I was on a roll.
“Hi, it's April Moon. I hear that you have a hooker call at Universal next week. Can I get on it, honey please?"
“April, you're too old for the hooker and too young for the madam. I want someone fifteen. Try later.”
Then the empty dial tone in my ear.

The director pointed at me shaking his head as I popped my bubble gum in his face, posing. I really needed to get this job today, I was desperate.
“She's too old for this, but she's got raw sex appeal. The part calls for a girl about seventeen,” he sighed. “I'll use that tall cheap-looking redhead over there. She's a good type. She's the best of the worst we have today. I hope she can handle a few lines.” He answered, snapping his fingers.

Chelsea and I started gliding around the set seductively, vulgarly, dancing, moving our bodies with bumps and grinds. Clapping our hands and moving them toward our breasts as though floating through space. Clap, clap, snapping our fingers to the beat. My electric rock 'n' roll hair spilling over my shoulders like raging storms of wild wind.
Yolanda and the midget Gimp the Pimp started dancing.
“Ya'll I feel trashy today. I jes' wanna drink wine by the nipple and party! Let's make a toast to sorority sisters. The jet-set gypsies. We're the babes,” Yolanda moaned licking the bottleneck.
Gimp the Pimp the midget pinched Yolanda's rear end as she danced up to Chelsea and I bumped into Big Iron. Then Yolanda did her Aretha impersonation to the music.
Chelsea and I put on our dark glasses, pushed out our bumps, posing and lip synching as Respect blared in the background




‘Too Old to be a Hooker...Too Young to be a Madam’ is available at the following
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