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Despite all of their attempts, motives and progress members of the group
held little sense of the ultimate destination they would find, not unlike
itinerant sagebrush that bounced across the long-abandoned airfield. Now
the site of impending hopes of a homegrown video catering to the unique
wishes of the group was soon to become their Waterloo.

A semi-restored Hudson aircraft had been donated as transportation for
the select five and their chosen subject and it had been rolled out of
sight into one of the two remaining hangers still in existence at the
former WWII training base.

The other hanger with its number "2" barely distinguishable on one
weathered side had become the sound stage. With wild ambitions to negate
callous professional snubs by making a film their way the production was
set to begin. Inside, two bulky studio cameras warmed on illuminated white
cards as those members who had made the actual trip got used to their Roman
military uniforms.

"At last," said Master Briefs as he lifted with his wooden sword the
mock-leather skirt of the retired accountant next to him, "an answer to the
age-old dilemma."

"And that would be?" the retiree asked pushing the sword aside and
adjusting his new breastplate.

"Boxers or Briefs? Why of course."

"Easy for you to say, Sharkman."

"People! People! Peeeople!!!" The voice of Allan Smithey, the director
echoed the cavernous interior. "We are almost set to begin. Here, Candi
put on this gown."

"That old rag? Are you kidding?!"

The attorney looked at the bimbo talent he had negotiated with for this
project and his patience was on edge. Not only had he allowed her to bring
along her little friend, but he also had procured the various permits for
shooting a "nature film" from the far-off county seat of Elvira.

"Just shut-up bitch. You got what you wanted," Master Briefs again
cursed what he had to shell out in terms of bucks for the broad, "now it's
time for you to get to work. Don't forget you work for me, sister!"

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Candi glared at the lawyer, then looked again at the coarse robe Smithey
offered. She shrugged. Well-versed in working any room, she secretly
smiled a diva's smile and lifted up her crop tank. An actress at heart,
though credits to date only included a few porns and stage work with
blaring music and a vertical pole, Candi played it cool. Proud of her full
breasts, she took her time.

"Hurry it up, sister. We haven't got all day."

"Oh don't you look so cute in your little skirt, Mister Lawyer-man," she
sneered.

"Look, people. The cameras are ready so let's just get on with it,
shall we?" Smithey adjusted the bill of his ball cap one more time.
"Candi, don't fix your hair. Just put that thing on and take off your
shorts and shoes and sox."

"But the floor's dirty," Sandra said. Unlike Candi, who was loving it
as Miss Starlet, Sandra was Goth Grrrl.

The lawyer swung around and said," Of course, 'the floor's dirty'. What
do you think it would be? Swept clean by the wind?" He was about to vent
frustration by kicking a sagebrush with his open-toed sandal until the
repercussions from such an action caused him to reconsider.

Smithey intervened one more time and said, "Now, now people. When I
yell 'Action!' that's what I want. Save your energies for that, okay?
Sandra, step out of the light with me and let's get this thing going."

Scene One was to hang Candi from the ceiling by her wrists. Pads
protected her skin, of course, and the "soldiers" ripped away her garment
leaving her shining form nude. Smithey ordered a break, and judiciously
applied his mixture of food dye and syrup across her back and legs. The
red trickles made for fine special effects in the footage recorded by the
VTR.

The scene went fairly smoothly until just as he was applying the last of
the fake blood, a new voice stopped all. It came from the darkness near
the side of one interior wall.

"Now, just what do we all have going one here?" the voice asked.