GRIP GIRL By C. James Tonya revises the script for a wanna-be film director. Tonya thought she'd seen it all when it came to phony movie types. But this bullshit director and his crew of personal cronies was by far the worst ever. For almost ten years, Tonya had been working as a "grip" on locally shot film productions. And in all that time, she'd never been treated as shabbily as she had on this particular shoot. For one thing, none of the other grips, mostly male, did much of anything but stand around and complain. And she soon discovered that she was expected to do a disproportionate share of the actual work. But it wasn't the extra workload that irritated her as much as the constant snottiness and downright nastiness of her co-workers. Some of the so-called male grips had the need to belittle her whenever possible in order to bolster their own egos. They were quite clearly jealous of her physical abilities and competence on the job. And what was even more maddening was the obvious complicity of the director. Now, that character was a real piece of sleaze. According to what Tonya could gather from various sources, this was his first real feature. And his inexperience certainly showed. Brent Terrace assembled a cast and crew which he'd drawn mostly from his own personal entourage of local wanna-bes. In an article he authored for a local "entertainment weekly" he flatly stated that "100 close personal friends" were making "his first feature possible." Like most pretenders in the realm of artistic endeavor, Brent Terrace was both arrogant and patronizing at the same time. He'd lord it over the crew and actors while condoning or ignoring the outright laziness of some of his crew. He'd tell them how wonderful they were one minute then be ranting at them non-stop for their stupidity. But what really betrayed Terrace's true character was his choice in casting his "main squeeze" as the lead in this epic. A common practice among second-rate filmmakers. Naturally, his girlfriend would have been unsuited for the role even if she'd been able to act. But she 2 But she couldn't act to save her sweet ass. She was cast to play female super-sleuth, Jane Archer. And there was nothing at all credible about casting this anorexic airhead in such a role. Of course, it was going to be a terrible little movie with a gaggle of gothic kids who salivated at the mention of film. So why not toss in a skinny little bimbo as a high-powered private detective? It all seemed to fit rather laughably. She was to be a tough action-heroine with martial arts skills Actually, the only perceivable skill she had was giving the director "head" somewhere unfortunately off-camera. Maybe that's why Tonya finally said what she said. And she said it within earshot of Mr. Big himself. Her comment was overheard during the shooting of what was supposed to be a climactic scene inside an industrial warehouse. Our heroine was being menaced by a brutish heavy who had lured her there. Tonya couldn't help but giggle and comment loudly each time the 110 pound beanpole blew the scene and fell on her skinny little rump after missing a karate kick. Director Terrace kept doing take after ludicrous take until even his vast patience was exhausted. Annoyed and disgusted, Terrace looked around the set and spotted Tonya. And of course, she looked like the far more logical choice for a fight scene. About 5-9 and 160 pounds of athletic muscle, Tonya WAS Jane Archer. "Just who is that lady Tarzan anyway?" Terrace asked his assitant director. "Oh . . . . her . . . that's just Tonya, one of the grips." "Well, get her over here. I don't have time for anymore takes. Maybe she can stand-in for Stephanie." "Sure, I guess so. Does this mean you won't be using Stephanie anymore?" "Not after five blown takes. Go see if you can get wonderwoman into Stephanie's outfit, hurry." "Well, what should I tell Stephanie? Won't she be upset?" asked the dork. 3 "Leave that to me," said Terrace with his usal smugness. Tonya sensed that they'd been talking about her. And she held her breath waiting for the axe to fall. But she really needed this job and was prepared to apologize if that's what it came down to. But she receive the shock of her life when the dork assistant approacher her with Terrace's brainstorm. She was delighted with the offer, but that would soon change. While Tonya fought to "squeeze" her herself into Stephanie's leather jacket and pants, she couldn't help but hear the angry voices on the set. Stephanie wasn't taking her boyfriend and director's decision too gracefully as she flipped him off and vowed legal action. In fact, when Tonya marched onto the set wearing something vaguely similar to Stephanie's original costume, the huffy leading lady stormed completely off the set. "Huh, looks like you found a different costume," mused the director. "Sorry, but I just couldn't fit into the other stuff," Tonya apologized. "No biggy. Just so you look convincing in the fight scene. Nothing else matters." "Don't worry, I will." "Have you done any stunt work before?" "A little, but nothing this involved," she admitted. "You'll be fine. Just follow Larry's lead. He's been doing stunts for years. So, don't worry about hurting him. Go after him as hard as you can. Don't hold anything back. I want this scene to work, okay?" "Sure," she agreed. "By the way, what's your name?" "Tonya, Tonya Everhard." Terrace laughed. "That's a perfect name for someone . . . with your look," he said with a touch of sarcasm. "So, that's it? 4 "I mean, I really though you might run through it a couple of times, block-out the thing, you know, kind of choreograph the fight so you can get it in as few takes as possible." "Listen, musclegirl, don't tell me how to direct, okay? We don't have the luxury of time to run through a bunch of rehearsals. Just take the freakin' gun away from Larry and knock him on his ass. He'll go down easy. I promise." Hey, the name's Tonya. And you don't have to worry about me handling myself with your pal Larry." Terrace looked over at his stuntguy Larry and winked. "You hear that, Larry. Tonya thinks she can handle you." Larry didn't seem to care one way or another as he merely shrugged. While the dorky AD guided Tonya and Larry into their respective positions, Tonya took a deep breath and concentrated. Hell, she'd seen this scene too many times already. Should be a breeze, she thought. And this Larry character. Not too bad for an ordinary guy. A little on the muscular side but nothing special. She could deal with him. But as she waited for the camera to roll, she found herself getting angrier and angrier. Terrace was one condescening asshole. And Tonya fully intened to leave a lasting mark on his movie. Now, the script called for Jane Archer to be almost overpowered by the thug, but that just didn't work for Tonya. So, moments after Terrace shouted for "action" Tonya took a bit more artistic license than the boys had envisioned. Poor stuntguy Larry was altogether unprepared for Tonya's revision in the script as she totally took command from the beginning. As they came together and locked hands in a hand to hand struggle, Tonya easily overpowered Larry and soon had both his wrists twisted in her unbreakable grip. She then whipped both his arms behind him and "chicken-winged" her attacker. Meanwhile, the gun went bouncing harmlessly to the warehouse floor. Prematurely disarmed, Larry shot a frightened look over at Terrace. But the great 5 apparently liked what he saw and didn't cut the scene to save Larry from further embarrassment. Tonya now had her knee planted in Larry's back as the pressure of this "surfboard" type hold threatened to dislocate both Larry's arms from their sockets. Pushing him roughly to the floor, Tonya stood over him and demanded that he fight like a man. But Larry preferred to go for the gun. Tonya kicked the pistold beyond his reach then grabbed him by the shirt collar and forced him back to his feet. Give Larry some credit, he really did try to save the scene, but Tonya was now really on a "role" of her own. He didn't even pretend to pull his punch when he took a wild swing at her. But Tonya blocked his punch rather easily before socking him silly with a right-hand to the chops. Larry skittered back on his heels while a left and right to the belly turned his knees to goo. An uppercut exploded on his chin and Larry's six-foot frame was lifted clean off the floor. Larry's toes had barely touched back to earth when his head was rocked back and forth by some rapid- fire punches to the head. Tonya was really getting into her role as she took a step back and unloaded a roundhouse right that splattered on the lanky stuntman's nose. Larry's body wavered in the wake of the devastation before he toppled. But rather than allow him to kiss the concrete floor, Tonya caught the KO'd stuntman in her arms and gently lowered him to the floor. It certainly gave new meaning to the words "quiet on the set" as Tonya gazed down on a snoozing Larry. Not to mention all those silently shocked crew members with mouths agape. She fully expected to hear the outraged voice of Brent Terrace at any second. But the cool director dude in his cashmere vest and neatly coiffed hair was beaming with delight. "Did you get all that?" he asked his camera guy excitedly. The camera guy nodded cautiously. "KILLER . . . THAT'S THE GREATEST. I've never seen a better, more realistic fight scene in my entire life," he enthused. With the great director's approval, the assembled crew and cast burst into applause. 6 "That was way too cool, muscles. You couldn't have done it any better," he shouted over at Tonya. But Tonya wasn't listening. she was too busy attending to Larry the stuntguy. Kneeling down next to him, she rubbed his cheeks and massaged his forehead. The guy was still out cold. "God, I'm sorry. I hope I didn't hit him too hard. I just got carried away." "Would you forget about him. He's okay." And Terrace gazed down at Larry with disdain. "Just let him sleep it off," the director snickered. Tonya gave Terrace an irritated glance as she looked around for help. "Hey, I could use some help over here," she hollered. "He really could be hurt." When Terrace finally realized she was serious about helping the stuntguy, Terrace barked out an order to some of his grunts. "Okay, okay . . . let's get this mess cleaned up. So, c'mon people, get your butts down here and get this piece of shit outta here." Tonya couldn't believe what she'd heard. More damning evidence as to the director's total lack of character. "As for you muscles, I want you backer here tomorrow for some additional stand-ins. I'm thinking of reshooting all the important action sequences." For an instant, she thought about spitting right in his arrogant face, but she accepted the offer anyway. "Why not? But I want the same day-rate as your girlfriend. And I want the agreement in writing." At first, her brusque tone seemed to annoy Terrace, but just as quickly, his expression relaxed. "No problem, I'll have a contract drawn up tonight." Then he stepped aside as a pair of grunts scooped Larry off the floor and carried him away. That evening, Tonya was beside herself with anticipation as her mind returned to those earlier events. Over the years, she'd caught herself wondering about making the leap from mere grip to full-fledged stunt-woman. But up until now, it had always been a private, fleeting fantasy. She pondered her future as she pulled her sweatshirt up and over her ultra-wide shoulders. 7 Grinning playfully at her own reflection, Tonya brought her forearms up and began flexing her biceps. WHEEW! Sometimes the sight of her 15 and 1/2 inch biceps even surprised her. Tonya then tightened her magnificent chest and watched as her pectorals expanded and rippled while her large, well-formed breasts came to an erect attention. Then, as if to scold her for her vanity, the telephone suddenly rang. Sprinting quickly over to the phone, she answered it. She was slightly out of breath as she picked up the phone and spoke into the mouthpiece. She felt a tinge of self-consciousness as she recognized the voice on the other end as that of the assistant dork. The dork's voice sounded hesitant and strained as he began to deliver the terrible news. She listened quietly at first as all her newly formed dreams came crashing down on her. "I'm really sorry about all of this," the dork rambled. "But if you'd heard the threats his girlfriend was making . . . well, you can understand our position." Tonya swallowed hard, then took a deep breath. "So, if I understand what you're saying, Mr. Big let his little girlfriend pull the rug out from under the whole thing." "Well, I guess you could put it that way," agreed the dork. "By the way, you can tell your boss that he's a spineless wimp. Not only for dumping me, but for casting his no-talent girlfriend in the first place. Better yet, I'll tell him personally, tomorrow." Tonya could hear the dork squirming tensely in the moments that followed. "I'm afraid you won't have that opportunity, Ms. Everhard. Mr. Terrace has decided that it would be better for all concerned if you don't resume your duties on the film." "WHAAAT?" Tonya screamed. "I'm sorry, Ms. Everhard. But I've asked to let you know that effective immediately, you no longer are permitted anywhere on the production set." By this time, Tonya was verging on hysteria. "YOU MEAN . . . YOU MEAN I'M FIRED? 8 Frightened beyond words, the director's little dork could do little else but discreetly disconnect. Meanwhile, an enraged Tonya heaved the phone against the wall and ripped the phone book in half. But that was nothing compared to what she had in mind for the director and his "main squeeze." Early, the very next morning, director Terrace was busy "scoping out" a scene through his makeshift "viewfinder" which was appropriately enough for him, a cardboard toilet paper roll. "Hey, don't knock it, it works," Terrace reminded his assistant dork. Suddenly, the dork was shouting and tugging at his master's sleeve. "Brent, Brent, CALL SECURITY . . . THERE SHE IS." Terrace himself was soon seized by fear as well as he glimpsed Tonya through his toilet roll. "SECURITY ON THE SET . . . STOP THAT WOMAN . . . STOP HER NOW," pleaded Terrace as Tonya advanced on him. Two burly ex-bikers in ill-fitting security uniforms confronted Tonya. Tonya slammed her right fist into her left palm in a gesture that should've tipped them off. But the bearded behemoths kept coming. They surrounded her and for a moment, her body was obscured. Then, in a furious blur, both bikers exploded backwards and Tonya kept coming. One remained on the floor clutching his gonads while the other charged anew. Tonya took the bearded goon in a headlock, bent him over and whipped him over her hip to the floor. He sort of bounced back to his feet, but Tonya was ready and waiting as she slammed his overweight body with a flurry of punches. As a finishing touch, she caught the goon perfectly with a right-cross to the jaw. Something flew from his mouth. And Tonya left him crawling about on the floor in search of his dental plate. Having witnessed the rather effortless dispatch of his goons, our fearless director was already in flight. With Stephanie hot on his heels, the pair sought to escape Tonya's vengeance in Terrace's '74 Olds which was parked right outside the warehouse. But Tonya Everhard was not to be denied as she quickly cornered them. 9 Terrace actually cowered behind Stephanie who chirped a threat. "You better leave us alone or I'll . . .." "OR YOU'LL WHAT?" Tonya asked with a smirk. Stephanie struck a martial arts stance. "Or I'll kick your teeth in." Poor deluded thing, she actually intended to protect the creep who was quaking behind her. "Make your move," Tonya beckoned. The skinny thing lunged forward and attempted a kind of karate kick, but Tonya brushed her leg aside and gripped Stephanie's face like she would a grapefruit. Caught in Tonya's squeezing grip, the "main squeeze" danced about like she was on fire before she melted to the pavement like goo. The director scrambled into his car and locked the door, but Tonya raced around, popped the hood and removed the distributor cap before the valiant man could speed away. Then she went back to work on Stephanie. The skinny blonde had barely crawled to her knees when she felt her head scissored between Tonya's terrible haunches. Stephanie pawed pathetically at Tonya's thighs as her face glowed a bright crimson. Tonya giggled at her plight and then exerted just enough thigh-power to send a final shockwave of pain through Stephanie's body. The scissor squeeze left the "main squeeze" squishy as Stephanie's body went limp. Tonya stepped over the bimbo to have at Terrace who was still feeling secure in his locked car. But not for long as Tonya kneeled over an unconscious Stephanie and ripped the blouse from her torso. Wadding the blouse around her fist, she then plunged her fist through the car window. Glass shattered and Terrace attempted to flee through the other passenger side door. But Tonya literally collared him and dragged him from the car. Terrace was already close to tears when Tonya's backhanded slap sent him staggering into the side of the Olds. She followed up with a wicked hooking shot to the ribs and then 10 straightened him right back up with a sizzling uppercut to the chin. A knee to the belly dropped the director at her feet where he blubbered for mercy. "Please, you can have anything . . . anything you want." "I know I can," she said coldly. She then took a fistful of hair and inserted his head and neck between her granite thighs. "Maybe you'll last a little longer than honeypie," she mocked. Tonya's crushing thighs resumed their mission of vengeance as they hardened around the director's neck and head. It looked to be a double-feature as Terrace moaned even more loudly than his "main squeeze." Within fifteen seconds his moans were muffled by the unremitting pressure of her thighs. In twenty seconds, Tonya finally relaxed the scissors and the director's unconscious, sweaty head went sliding down the interior of Tonya's thighs like a greased pig down a chute. Now, having exacted her revenge, Tonya looked down on both of them and thought about what a darling couple they were, lying side by side, unconscious on the pavement.