Archive-author: Mark Rabinowitz
Archive-title: To Catch a Starlet, Part III - Five More Times a Lady
To Catch a Starlet 3: Five More Times a Lady.
Chapter 1: Fade to Black
OK, OK, let's be reasonable. There is no birth certificate or Social Security
number for "Donna Coolidge," I thought as I signed that name on the contract to
strip and dance at the Booby Trap. How in the world could Peter think he could
get me to marry him and have his baby? And how would I pay taxes on my stripping
if, in fact, this was what my life would be?
I stood outside the rear entrance, wondering about life as a stripper, waiting
for Nelson to pick me up. I was surprised when Peter, not Nelson, showed up, in
an old (I'd say early '80s) Chevy van. He parked in front of me, then walked up
to me and said that Nelson had car trouble and asked him to pick me up. Sounds
familiar, I thought. Nelson had to pick me up because *I* had car trouble.
"Uh, that's OK, I can get a taxi," I responded in that carefree, delectable
Kellie Martin voice, having lost my trust in Peter and Nelson.
He grabbed my arm and said, "Donna, listen to me. The police are on to me--"
"No surprise," I added.
"--And they know you can answer some of their questions. Sorry, but I have to
He held another chloroform cloth to my nose and mouth. I tried another muffled
scream, in fear that I would die. But this time, he applied it only long enough
to sap some strength. Before I fell asleep, I could feel him injecting something
into my left leg.
When I woke up, I was in the back of the van. I had been feeling pain,
especially in my breasts and legs. As it was late at night now, the interior of
the van was also dark. I figured the injection had changed me back into Kellie
Martin. To check on this, I turned on the roof light in the van. My hand looked
dark, but I figured that was somehow natural due to my being asleep so long and
was squinting into the light. I took off my coat and T-shirt and found that my
breasts and legs were, indeed, not those of the full-figured woman who had just
won the Booby Trap Grand Amateurs Competition. I looked at my hands again,
however, and they were not the fair pink hands of Kellie Martin.
In disbelief, I slipped out of my bodystocking. Only then would I find the
truth: Not only did my body look well-tanned, but my nipples were even darker! I
noticed, too, that my hair was longer. It went down to the middle of my back. I
tossed my hair around my shoulder to find that it was black and, well, very
wavy. (I wouldn't call it curly.)
Peter saw me in his rearview mirror and asked, "How do you like your body...
"Wh--LaTanya?" I said. I found that my voice wasn't the same. I crawled over
to the grating that separated me from Peter (like that in a police car),
noticing that my skin was getting even darker.
"Yes. Your name is LaTanya Lucas. Usually, you work for AmeriBank-Detroit in
the Renaissance Center. But now, you're one of the "Girls of the RenCen" in a
Fuck Detroit Magazine pictorial. You get to pose nude all over Detroit, and its
landmarks. They say the best one getsto be in a Detroit promotional advertising
campaign. I see you like taking your clothes off already," he said.
"This isn't real," I said to myself. "It must be a dream."
"According to that papers I got from City Hall, you are 27 years old. Much
closer to my age," he added. "And you've got a nice ass and legs, by the way."
I turned around with curiosity to look at my ass. It was plump, like a baby's,
and accounted for at least 3 extra inches on my hips. And my legs were longer
than Kellie's, regular or full-figured. My skin had finally stopped darkening,
now halfway between caramel and milk chocolate.
"LaTanya, turn off the light. We'll be downtown in 20 minutes," Peter said. I
did, and put my bodystocking back on. I curled up in Peter's coat, pressing my
breasts against my knees.
Over these 20 minutes, I wondered just what would happen. Fuck Detroit
Magazine? Sounds hardcore, I thought. And after this photoshoot, what next?
Would it be back to the Booby Trap?
We arrived at the West River Hotel, where Peter told me how to answer every
question the front desk would throw at me. After getting the key to my hotel
room, Peter handed me a large bag and walked off. "I have other reservations.
Have fun, 'Tanya," he said.
I took the elevator to my room, which was on the top of the hotel. I opened
the door to find a small slumber party. Three other young, African-American
women were there to greet me. While they had been sampling their lingerie and
swimwear, I got instant attention.
"Hey, LaTanya, what's in the bag?" one of the three asked. It was then that I
realized the stuff in it had to do with the Fuck Detroit shoot.
TO BE CONTINUED: See what happens when our hero(ine) takes on Detroit, in