Capítulo 31: Chapter 31: The Hollywood Dream
Hardy and Marisa's relationship was unconventional, to say the least. They weren't exactly lovers, and though they shared intimate moments, it wasn't love that brought them together. They were more like friends who occasionally found comfort in each other's company.
Early the next morning, Hardy prepared to leave. Marisa, wearing a camisole, helped him get his clothes together. As she handed him his shirt, Hardy smiled and said, "I'm meeting with Mr. Siegel today. I'm going to be an assistant at his film company. I'll see if there are any acting roles that might suit you."
Marisa's eyes lit up with excitement. "Really? That's amazing!" She hugged Hardy tightly and gave him a kiss.
After Hardy left, Marisa couldn't stop thinking about the possibility of acting in a movie. The excitement of what could be filled her with hope. But then, her joy was overshadowed by another thought, one that brought a wave of sadness over her.
She walked over to a drawer and pulled out a paper passbook. She opened it and stared at the numbers.
$8,500.
It had taken her a long time to save up that money. Nightclubs paid well, but expenses like acting and vocal classes quickly drained her savings.
Putting on her clothes and grabbing her bag, Marisa tucked the passbook inside. She stepped outside and hailed a taxi.
"Where to, ma'am?" the driver asked.
"79 Maple Avenue," Marisa replied, giving the address.
...
At the entrance of an old two-story building, a sign read, "Persian Cat Talent Agency." Marisa stood at the door, hesitating. She felt a mixture of reluctance and fear because she despised the man she was about to meet. But for the sake of her future, she had no choice.
She walked up to the second floor, took a deep breath, and knocked on the office door.
"Come in," said a familiar, detestable voice.
Marisa entered, finding a man in his thirties sitting at a desk, sorting through a thick stack of papers. He was thin, with shrewd eyes that appraised her as she walked in.
"Well, well, well, look who it is," the man said with a sly grin. "It's the lovely Miss Marisa."
He stood up and walked around Marisa, eyeing her up and down. "You're looking more beautiful than ever. Stick with me, and I'll make you a Hollywood star."
He reached out to touch Marisa's hair, but she recoiled, pulling away in disgust.
"Mr. Sanders," Marisa began, her voice steady, "I'm here to talk business."
Sanders shrugged, unfazed, and leaned back against his desk, lighting a cigarette. "Sure, go ahead."
"I want my contract back," Marisa said firmly.
Sanders chuckled softly and spread his hands. "No problem. You can have it back as soon as you pay the penalty."
Marisa took the passbook from her bag, opened it, and placed it on the table. "The penalty in the contract is $10,000. I have $8,500 here. I'll get the remaining $1,500 to you as soon as I can."
Marisa had come to Los Angeles with dreams of making it big, but she had been naive. Brad Sanders, the man in front of her, had lured her into signing a contract with promises of fame and success. The contract bound her to his agency for ten years, with a split that heavily favored him—ninety percent for Sanders, ten percent for her.
Marisa had initially objected to the terms, but Sanders had assured her that the contract would change once she became successful. He had said she would eventually earn much more, and that the split would be adjusted to reflect her status as a star.
But things hadn't gone as Marisa had hoped. She was sent to a modeling agency for a week of classes, only to be thrust into degrading "modeling" gigs—underwear shows where she and other girls paraded in front of lecherous men. Marisa soon realized that Sanders was using her and the other girls, offering them up to sleazy men under the guise of introducing them to "directors."
One day, Sanders called Marisa to meet a "director" for an interview. When she arrived at the hotel and saw a man in his sixties, she fled in terror. She didn't return to Sanders' office but instead sought refuge with a friend who had come to Los Angeles with her. Her friend had chosen a more stable path, working in a restaurant, and Marisa stayed with her for a while.
Needing money to survive, Marisa eventually found work at a nightclub. She was offered a position as a nightclub hostess, which paid significantly more than being a waitress, and she accepted it to make ends meet.
But Marisa never gave up on her dreams. She continued saving money, enrolling in acting and vocal classes whenever she could afford it. She knew she had to get out of her contract with Sanders if she ever wanted to be free to pursue her career.
Now, standing in Sanders' office, she was determined to buy her freedom.
Sanders looked at the passbook and then back at Marisa. His expression was unreadable, but Marisa could tell he was calculating something.
"Fine," he said after a long pause, "Get me the remaining $1,500, and you can have your contract back."
Marisa felt a glimmer of hope, but she knew this wasn't over yet. She would need to find a way to come up with the rest of the money, and she would have to be careful dealing with Sanders until then.
She nodded, picking up her passbook and leaving the office, determined to reclaim her future.
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