Also—and I’m a little ashamed to have to mention this, but you wouldn’t believe how usual it is—Sim didn’t use this kind of behavior for leverage with either Liz or Karen. You know the kind of thing: ‘Hey, Babe, did you like how I got you your bit out there with the director? You want to get some dinner and talk character relationships?’ It happens, I shit you not. No, the man was a pro. And as rehearsals continued, I started to get little crush on Mr. Brownstone. I don’t know that I’d have done anything about it. I’d crushed on older, more established actors before now—talent can be pretty sexy all by itself—but I’d never thought seriously about seducing any of them. Maybe it was the role. Maybe it was the costume. Maybe it was the ad lib, or the extra glass of wine I had the night it happened. We were in previews: rehearsals performed before a paying audience before the official opening. The night before, Liz, Glori (playing Tintinabula) and I had been inserted into ‘Everybody’s. The tenor had intensified through the succeeding sessions, the sex becoming ever more animalistic. Evelyn writhed harder at Mr. Arnold’s successive escalations. Their fervors rose with each successful conquest and unconditional surrender. Evelyn had savored it all. Even now, her pussy retained tingles of the ecstasies. Mr. Arnold was in a similar state of latent afterglow. After the shredding, Evelyn’s clothes were unserviceable. For her journey to breakfast, she had found a discarded tuxedo shirt to wear. The buttons were missing but it shrouded her shoulders and tits, leaving her unfettered central cleavage on display. The see-through fabric brushed her nipples, exciting them into alluring dark disks with prominent bumps. Mr. Arnold approved. Her demeanor and presentation gave him negotiating clout in the coming freeform-swaps with the other fathers. Across the room, Mr. Arnold spotted the pair of Oriental twins dressed in abbreviated schoolgirl costumes. They were coyly giggling.
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