She threw her arms around Manuel's neck and gave him a big hug. Candice looked up into his eyes, "I'm so glad you pushed me to do this! I almost didn't go." Manuel returned the hug and slowly let his right hand drift down to the rest lightly atop the girls left buttock barely squeezing with his fingertips. He watched her eyes for the first hint that she was conscious of his hand and then abruptly broke the embrace and turned away so that she could compose herself.

"Candice," he said, "I think we're both happy you didn't do that. Changing the subject, I understand that Mr. Hernandez gave you 5,000. He said that this is above and beyond the contract. Enjoy spending it. Incidentally, you should give thought to sturdy luggage with good locks as well as the lack of cosmetics and toiletries where you'll be going. I understand that a large part of the film will be shot somewhat far from the conveniences that you may be accustomed to. Oh yes, one other thing. Some of the movie will be filmed on the beach. Unless you want the makeup people removing any unwanted hair below the level of your neck, I suggest you plan accordingly."

Manuel laughed as the young actress understanding dawned with a bright blush. "Now run along. I'll see you here tomorrow at 11:00 AM to sign your first big contract."

The following week was amazingly hectic. Between signing the contract, shopping, visiting her few friends, quitting her job, getting her hair done, the necessary immunizations, arranging her Visa, and packing, the day of departure arrived all too soon. Of the 5,000, only 122 and change was left. She didn't care, in two days, if all went as planned, she would receive her first paycheck as an actress.

Bernice, her roommate, drove her to the airport. It seemed only fitting that her garb on the day of her departure should be a new white cotton sundress with halter top, white bikini panties, a floppy straw hat and white sandals purchased at one of the swank shops on 5th Avenue. Her hair hung in a graceful ponytail down to the middle of her back. After a tearful goodbye accompanied by promises to write once she got settled, Candice boarded her plane to stardom.

During the twelve-hour flight down to Guatemala City, Candice reflected on her life. If only her father could have lived long enough to share in her success. It was better this way, she thought; at least he was no longer suffering. Cancer had reduced him to little more than a skeleton before the end. A tear unconsciously rolled down her smooth cheek.

Candice Whiteford, or Candy as her friends called her, had grown up in Carol Stream, Illinois, the only daughter of a quiet English professor at Chicago University. Her mother had died in an auto accident when she was only two years old and her father had never remarried. With that kind of background, it was natural that her formative years were spent immersed in academic studies and playing key roles in school plays. Shy, but terribly ambitious, she dreamt of one day becoming an actress and playing starring roles in films and on Broadway. After her father died three days before her eighteenth birthday, she had used the life insurance proceeds to move to New York in order to pursue her dreams.

The 115-degree heat crested over her like a humid wave as Candice passed through the open airplane door. Exhausted from the long trip, all she could think about was getting to the hotel where she was supposed to meet the film crew so that she could take a long cool bath. Descending the metal stairs next to the plane, she looked in frustration at her mountain of luggage piled on the concrete tarmac. Pausing to brush an errant strand of hair from her face, she reflected that it was going to be a very long day. The passengers who had deplaned before her were already wearily dragging their luggage to the Immigracion area for inspection. She now faced the daunting prospect of standing in a line for what might be hours.

After a few futile attempts to move her many pieces of luggage, Candice was terribly relieved to see two uniformed soldiers approach and lift her bags. All she could do was smile and give a heartfelt, "gracias". Motioning with their heads for her to follow, she was quickly led across the tarmac and through a set of double-glass doors into a restricted area of the airport. Inside, about thirty soldiers and civilians were working mechanically to handle the bureaucratic red tape of processing the few thousand travelers who passed through the Aeropuerto International de Guatemala daily. The whine of fans blowing in each corner of the ceiling could barely be heard over the din of people talking. Still, most of the men in the room turned to look appreciatively as Candice came through the doors. The bright sunlight coming through the glass behind her cast her long legs and the gap between them into bold relief through her white dress.

Very conscious of their lascivious stares, she moved quickly to follow the two soldiers through two more sets of doors into a long concrete corridor. Where were they taking her luggage, she asked herself? The dusty bulbs, dangling every ten yards or so from old corroded wires, contributed to the dingy oppressive atmosphere. This part of the building looked much older than the façade. The stagnant humid air here seemed too tired to move.

Coming to a solid metal door, one of the soldiers put the bags he was carrying down and noisily threw the bar unlocking the door. With many creaks and groans the door slid to the right on its metal tracks. The stench of chlorine bleach assailed her. Looking into the room, Candice knew her first moment of fear.

The small square room before her was very brightly lit from above but appeared to be bare except for a small rectangular metal table coming to stomach height and welded securely to a huge rectangular drain grating in the middle of the floor. Worn black nylon straps dangled to either side from the table's edge. Both soldiers stepped through the door into the room beyond, where they prepared to search through her luggage.

Seeing the locks on her suitcases, one of the soldiers turned to her and demanded in Spanish, �Give me the keys.�

Reluctantly, she reached into her purse and handed them over. One by one, each piece of luggage was placed on top of the metal table for inspection. Candice watched their actions from the doorway fearing that some of her things might be stolen and wondered with dread what they were planning for her.

Glancing left and right, she saw a few similar metal doors further down the hallway. Consciously, she noted that none of these appeared to be exits and that, aside from them, the area appeared to be deserted. Breathing heavily, her heart thundering in her chest, she looked back into the room as the first soldier turned her way and came towards her purposefully.

Grabbing her roughly by the left elbow, the soldier pulled her stumbling into the room. As she passed through the doorway, she noticed for the first time that black foam rubber covered the edge of the doorframe; the room was effectively soundproofed. With more creaks and groans, this same soldier slid the door closed behind him with a muffled thud and threw the bolt home.

As both soldiers were ignoring her for the moment to continue inspecting the contents of her bags, Candice looked around the room with mounting fear. For the first time, she noticed an old wooden chair painted pale green setting in the corner a few feet from the door on the right. Propped in the near corner were a worn broom and mop standing in a large metal bucket. Next to the chair, a hose with a high-pressure nozzle was coiled on the floor. It was attached to a patinaed spigot that protruded from the concrete wall. A small pulley was welded to a steel plate attached to the left wall directly in line and at the same height with the narrow left side of the metal table. Through this pulley, Candice could see a rope with a large mountain-climbing clip attached securely to the end. In the two ceiling corners at the opposite end of the table, two other pulleys with ropes were similarly affixed. However, padded leather cuffs with straps dangled ominously at their ends. Each wall within the room had a number of what appeared to be two-way inset mirrors. Candice briefly wondered who, if anyone, was behind each. On the floor under the right-hand end of the table stood a bucket filled with a liquid that resembled cooking oil. The smell of bleach was pervasive.

Looking up from the bag on the table into her frightened eyes, the second soldier picked up her purse and extracted her passport. After learning her name, he pointed at the chair and commanded, �Senorita Whiteford, sit in the chair.� She did as instructed, quivering in fearful anticipation of what she was sure was to come.

The last few dollars in her purse were soon appropriated, "For the good of the state". The men seemed to take a great deal of pleasure inspecting her many new pieces of lingerie. Fifteen interminable minutes later, after some furtive looks and hasty whispering, the soldiers closed her luggage and moved each piece into the back left corner of the room. Purposefully, they walked over to her.

"Senorita Whiteford, please remove your shoes and hat and then stand up," the first soldier ordered in heavily accented English. Looking nervously into his unyielding eyes and then down at her feet, she fumbled with her sandal straps and finally, with trembling hands, pulled them from her feet. Removing her hat, she carefully placed it on the floor next to the chair and then stood. The gray concrete floor felt cool and gritty beneath her toes.

So what, she said silently to herself, if they give me a quick feel. I'll ignore whatever they do and they'll let me go.

"Please sir", Candice asked tremulously, "why am I here?"

"Silencio!" the first soldier commanded melodramatically. "We ask the questions. Why have you come to our country?"

Quickly, her mouth dry from adrenaline, Candice told the two soldiers why she was there in Guatemala.

The two men looked at each other and smiled.

"So, you are a movie star" the first soldier said. "Please remove your clothes now. We are going to search you."

Candice stared stupidly back and forth at each soldier in disbelief. "What? I'm an American", she said in a barely audible whisper. And then louder, seeing the determination in their faces, "Please no!"

The second soldier stepped behind her and pushed her roughly between the shoulder blades toward the table in the center of the room. Tears began rolling down her cheeks as the first soldier said ominously, "It is unlawful to resist search. You would not like our prisons. Now, remove your clothes or they will be ripped off of you, you will be searched and then you will be placed under arrest!�

Quietly sobbing, unable to raise her eyes from the floor, Candice reached up behind her neck and untied her halter-top. Slowly, keeping her breasts covered with her forearms, Candice lowered the halter-top so that it just covered her nipples.

"Faster," the second soldier barked behind her. He reached forward and yanked off the elastic band confining her blond ponytail.

Abruptly, she lifted her arms slightly away, allowing the white cotton cloth to fall down where it hung from the dress's narrow waist. Behind her, Candice heard the loud recognizable whisking snap of a belt being quickly removed. Turning her head quickly to identify the source of the sound, she was incredulous to see that the second soldier now held his wide black leather belt doubled over in his hand.

"Continue", the first soldier commanded threateningly from in front of her. "Every time you hesitate, it will only be worse. NOW STRIP!"