George hoisted me up on top of a plastic picnic table in the middle of the front office and began dry-humping me. He pinned me in place as the table legs scooted back against the wall with his bodily force. The front doors opened, letting the fall chill my exposed skin.
He was laughing. They were all laughing.
I thought there were only five people in the front lobby — a few producers, the production manager, the director, maybe a driver from transportation, a production assistant or two. I remember people saying to me later, when we were alone — not in front of anyone who could fire us — "I can't believe he did that! If we worked anywhere else, he'd be fired."
"Yeah," I said. I thought the same thing.
But none of us did anything about it.
What could I do? I was pretty low on the food chain. And my bosses all saw it. All guffawed. Enjoyed the show. I wasn't a person. I was an expendable.
I gave up my home to be part of this movie crew; moved all my belongings into storage and was living in a Motel 8 off an Omaha highway with a great view of the parking lot — everything a girl dreams of when she works her way up in the film business.
I wish that was the only time George humiliated me in front of people. But it wasn't. He took pleasure in making jokes at my expense, asking me if I wanted to act in the porn the characters in the movie watch, telling me I was stupid.
Read the full blind at XO Jane.
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