Dolores del Dunning and her triple D’s, the sign glowed. Dolores was thrilled to finally see her name in lights. Granted, a few of those lights were flickering and the sign hung over a so-so strip club that took up most of the nearly deserted alleyway; still, she was the headliner. The star. The performer they were all paying to see. And for that reason, she glowed even brighter than the sign that hung overhead.

"If they could see me now," she said as she grandly entered the club.

Then again, they’d have no idea who Dolores del Dunning was. Neither her name nor her physical attributes even remotely resembled the girl who left her hometown in Georgia nearly five years earlier. Shirley Keller had been a mousy brunette. Average looking at best. And yet, deep down inside, there was a star just waiting to emerge. Sure, she knew it would be tough. Sure, she knew she’d have to make some changes to herself. And sure, she knew there’d be a few concessions that would have to be made along the way. But in the end, she also knew that it would be worth all the sacrifices.

Unfortunately, Los Angeles wasn’t anything Shirley had expected. It was grimy. It was smoggy. It was way too crowded and loud. And, more significantly, it was full of women just like herself, all with a dream and a desire to make it in the big city. So after six months of endless cattle calls and a few auditions that went nowhere, Shirley emerged not as a star, but as a cocktail waitress at a sleazy downtown bar. It paid the bills, but not much else. It was degrading and it was tiresome. And yet Shirley held on to her dreams, however postponed they might have become.

She worked at the club for about a year and even managed to save up a little money. That’s when she found she had a choice to make. She could move back home to Georgia, find a husband, have some kids, and settle down; or she could use the money to buy some boobs. Boredom or boobs, as she liked to put it.

Naturally, she chose the latter. Boobs, it seemed, were all the rage in Hollywood. And she knew it would help, monetarily speaking. Tipping, she’d seen time and time again, was proportionately related to breast size. The bigger the tits, the bigger the tips. So she went full hog. Triple D’s. They cost her every last penny she had, but they were something to behold.

Then she dyed her hair platinum blonde, joined a gym, and, before she knew it, she had a new job at one the swankiest clubs on the strip. The money started rolling in. And though Shirley was happier than she’d been in along while, she still wasn’t fulfilled. Her dream, it seemed, was languishing on the vine. Busty, blonde waitresses were a dime a dozen in LaLa Land. Stardom skyrocketed you into a whole other realm. And that’s where Shirley longed to be.

Still, she was thrown for a loop when a casting director told her she simply didn’t have the talent and that she should try her luck in porn. There, apparently, you didn’t need any other skills except for what nature gave you. Nature or a good plastic surgeon, as was the case. Shirley told the director in no uncertain terms what he could do with his advice, and then she stormed out of his office.