Leaving Bob Hope’s office, Brendad was elated. Her dreams of immense, immediate stardom were slowly coming true. No, a USO tour wouldn’t get her that Oscar(s) with her name on it—could it?—but at least she’d now be giving handjobs to someone famous. Surely, that type of sacrifice to the arts would lead to a major motion picture.
But first, she had to do something about the comedian cum leaking from between her legs.
Hope’s secretary gave Brenda the eye, making Brenda acutely aware of how disheveled her usually glorious coif was.
“Windy today,” offered Brenda.
“Yes, I thought I heard blowing.”
Brenda slammed the palms of her hand onto the secretary’s desk with an intensity that startled both of them.
“Listen, you mousey little frump,” hissed Brenda in a voice loud enough to convey her new power, but not loud enough for the man who gave it to her to hear. “See, I’m going to be a big star. And big stars don’t cotton to the comments of nobodies with White-Out all over their cheap little cardigans. It’s darling. Where’d you find it? Sears?”
“No, I found it the same place you get your roles. On the floor.”