Why don’t you text him? End your suffering. You can act like you don’t like Josh all you want, but you clearly do, and you’re not doing anybody any favors by denying yourself.
What would he say, though? He could apologize, and they could do this right, without any cameras or an audience. Mike wanted that, and not just because he felt guilty. There was a whole list in his head of things he wanted to do with Josh, and a good portion of them involved that big mouth of his . . .
But how would that conversation go? Hey, sorry the sex was so terrible. And that I pushed you away afterward. I’d love to make it up to you, but it goes against all my professional boundaries.
He was willing to bet that wouldn’t go over so well.
Mike’s first time on camera had been a horror show as well. He’d fallen for one of the ads on Craigslist that had promised quick cash, and he’d gotten himself into a sketchy situation. He’d survived, but it had only been his college debt that’d kept him in porn. From then on, he’d refused to work with anyone but legit companies. He’d found Murmur Inc., and Colette’s devotion to safety was what had convinced him to sign with her. The rest was history.
Though he wondered why Colette—who made a point of not pushing the newbies too far, too fast—had made the call she had with Josh. He trusted that she had a reason, but it didn’t make him any less curious.
If Mike had any sense at all, he’d move on. Start thinking about his next film project. It’d been a while, and Colette should be calling him any day now to book him with someone else. Maybe the key to getting over his guilt involved getting on top of a new warm body.
Bullshit, Harwood. You’re not going to feel better about this until you own up to what you did. Call Josh and apologize. Don’t proposition him. Don’t ask him out. Say you’re sorry for brushing him off and see what he says. If you don’t make this right, he might never come back to Murmur Inc., and then you’ll never see him again.
The thought made his stomach acid coagulate. If only he had a reason to talk to him. Something to break the ice. Then he could apologize without it seeming weird.
He was still thinking about it as he waved goodbye to Blondie—who had donned a uniform that made Mike think he was a paramedic when he wasn’t working here—and exited the set. Just as he was considering tracking down Colette and seeing if she could provide him with an excuse to call Josh, someone said his name.
“Sean. A word?”
Speak of the devil. Colette was leaning in the doorway of her first-floor office, which to his knowledge acted primarily as a quiet place for her to go when the phone sex operators on the third floor got too rowdy. Judging by her tapping foot, she’d been waiting for him to finish.
“I was about to come find you.” He hustled over. As he walked, he noted her grave expression. She normally had a poker face that could make a Vegas dealer sweat. Something serious must be going on. “What’s up?”
“Deep shit.” She opened the door wider without preamble. “Come in, and close the door behind you.”
Well, that confirmed his theory. He did as instructed, closing and locking the door behind him. Colette’s office was small but tastefully furnished with a large, hardwood desk and soothing art on the walls. He sunk into one of the leather wingback chairs across from her and wished it weren’t so supple. It didn’t feel right getting bad news while sitting on a cloud.
Colette took a seat in the large boss’s chair on the other side of the desk and steepled her fingers. “I’m afraid I have to be the bearer of bad news.”
“The suspense is killing me.” Worst-case scenarios ran through his head. They could be getting slammed with obscenity charges. The police were always giving them shit at the behest of conservative groups. Someone could have been caught with drugs on location, or they might have been prostituting on the side for extra money.
“There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll be frank. Nickie Sixxy has announced she’s positive.”
Outside of the sex industry, that might have sounded like an inspirational message, but Mike knew otherwise. His mouth popped open. “She has HIV?”
“Yup. She broke the news on her Twitter this morning. Sent ripples of panic throughout the industry. She’s been getting tested regularly, so she estimates she contracted it within the past month. The whole machine is grinding to a halt while everyone who performed with her is rushing to get tested. Good thing we recently held auditions, because I’m going to need a lot of new performers to fill the gaps. It’s been a PR nightmare.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He meant it. An announcement like this always led to jobs drying up and a slow market. “But what does that have to do with me? I never fucked Nickie.”
“No, but you fucked Diamond Rough ten days ago, and she did a scene with Nickie shortly before that.”
“Shit! Seriously?” Mike tried not to overreact, but he couldn’t keep beads of cold sweat from forming on his brow like icicles.
“Try not to panic. It’s harder for women to pass HIV to other women, most of the time. It is possible, however, so you need to get tested.”
Despite her words, the news slammed into Mike like a freight train. For several seconds, all he could hear was his own blood buzzing in his ears. Gradually, he floated down from whatever dark, cold place he’d been catapulted into and reemerged in Colette’s office, clammy and shaking.
“Seriously, try not to panic.” Colette’s voice managed to reach him through the static clouding his brain. “Your chances of having it are low. Like, struck-by-lightning low. Nickie and Diamond didn’t use protection, but you and Diamond did.”
He remembered that. It was unusual. Straight porn hardly ever involved condoms, but Diamond didn’t do cream pies without them. Mike had gotten paid extra to come in her. The condom reduced his chances of being positive by a lot. Thank fuck.
Colette continued. “We need to alert every Murmur Inc. employee you’ve slept with since Diamond to get tested. I have records of all your shoots, of course, but you should make a list of everyone in your personal life as well.” She pulled a notepad and a pen out of a drawer and tossed them to him.
He stared at them, body growing rigid as realization dawned on him. “You have to contact everyone I’ve slept with in the past ten days? And everyone Diamond slept with, and Nickie, and then whoever those people went on to sleep with, and who they slept with? Not to mention group sex scenes, and threesomes, and gangbangs . . . We’re talking dozens of people.”
“Forty-eight, so far. I’m still counting. The number could break into triple digits by the time I’m finished tracking everyone down. How often do you get tested?”
“Every two weeks.” It was the industry standard for anyone who had regular, condom-free sex, as most of the “straight” performers did.
“When was your next one going to be?”
“In three days.”
“Well, I hate to disrupt your schedule, but I recommend skipping that one and waiting. The soonest you can get an accurate result is twenty-one days after exposure, but it’s better if you wait the full twenty-eight. I hate to say this, but that means—”
“You won’t be able to hire me for two weeks.” Mike nodded. “I’d already figured that much out.”
“I assure you that you’ll still have a place here when you come back. Assuming . . .”
The unspoken end of that sentence punched Mike in the gut.
Colette cleared her throat. “This is just a suggestion, but no matter how low your chances are, you should still avoid all sexual contact until you have your results.”
That’ll be easy. I haven’t slept with anyone recreationally in the past . . . Jesus.
“I think that’s everything. You should receive an email from me later today. I’m sending it out to the whole employee database to explain what’s happening—sans details, of course—so people don’t panic. Well, any more than they already have.”
God, this was a nightmare. Three years. Three years he’d m
anaged to go without a major STI scare. He’d had an STI once, but that’d been an easy cure. A little penicillin, and he’d been home free. This was different. He would live with this for the rest of his life.
“You’re going to be fine, Mike.”
He glanced up. Colette almost never used his real name.
She offered him a small smile. “If you do have it, HIV isn’t the death sentence today that it was for queer men in the eighties.”
“I know.” He blinked and was surprised to discover that his eyes had misted. “But it’s still incurable.”
“For now.” She gave him a sympathetic look, which was her version of a hug. “You need anything from me?”
“Yeah.” He hesitated. “You said you’re going to contact every Murmur Inc. employee I performed with, right?” That includes Josh.
“Yup. Most of them will have heard the news already, but the ones who didn’t perform with Nickie directly, like you, won’t understand that this affects them too. I’m not looking forward to going through a whole month-long spider web of porn.”
“I don’t envy you.” He paused again. “Sounds like you could use some help.”
Colette looked at him askance. “Whatever you’re not saying, say it.”
He swallowed. This was a perfect excuse to get in touch with Josh. It wouldn’t be under the best of circumstances, but while he had him on the phone, he could try to make things right.
“Well, I was thinking I could make one phone call for you. To, um, Josh. Or Dick Reams, rather.”
Colette’s eyebrows shot up. “You want to tell him yourself? I didn’t think you two were close.”
“We’re not, but you did make me his mentor.”
“That was only for orientation. You know that.”
“I know, but I feel kinda responsible. To think he might have gotten an STI his very first time filming. That’s like The Lottery levels of shitty luck, you know? I think he might take the news better if it comes from me, since we have a rapport and all. You don’t want to scare the kid into becoming a shooting star, right?”
Colette pressed her lips into a thin line. “Is that your real reason?”
“Of course it is. What other reason could I have?”
She studied his face for a disconcerting moment before sighing. “Sean, I’ve been in this industry for a long time. I’ve seen my fair share of drama go down behind the scenes. Jealousy, scorned lovers, moral struggles, you name it. I’ve also known you for a long time, and it’s obvious to me that Dick—”
“Josh,” Mike corrected without thinking.
Colette’s facial expression was a thing to behold.
Fuck.
“Sean . . . I know this is none of my business, but do you like Josh?”
He fidgeted. “As a colleague, sure.”
Her frown said she didn’t believe him. “Of all people, I never thought you’d fall in love on my set. I must say, it’s about time you stopped working so hard and had some fun.”
“I didn’t fall for him.” He sighed. “I don’t know what I did. I need to talk to him.”
“Far be it from me to tell a fellow adult what to do, but I think we both know Josh isn’t cut out for this business. When I first met him, I thought to myself, I give it a week. I’ve been wrong before, but not often. Do you think it’s wise to become invested in someone who could disappear tomorrow?”
I don’t like this line of questioning one bit.
Mike huffed out an agitated breath. “Look, I appreciate the pep talk, but like you said, I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions. Let me talk to him, okay? My moral compass is telling me that’s the right thing to do. As much as you like to play the role of the heartless CEO, I know you’ll cave if I say it’s important. So, I’m saying it. It’ll be better for both Josh and me if I handle this.”
Colette studied him for a few seconds before leaning back in her chair. “Very well. You can make the phone call. You realize, however, that I can’t disclose his personal information, right? Like his phone number? You’re not even supposed to know his name.”
“Actually . . . I already have his number.”
“Why am I not surprised? In that case, you’re dismissed.” She made a shooing motion. “Off you go. I have a lot of calls to make.”
Mike scampered out of her office, shutting the door behind him. He shouldn’t have mouthed off to her. Two weeks was a long time in the porn world, and at the end of it, he still needed to have a job. Thank fuck he had savings.
He exited the building via the side door and found his car waiting for him in the parking lot. It wasn’t until he was behind the wheel that panic descended on him once again. He must be in shock, because it was hitting him in waves. Fuck, he might have HIV. The words rattled around in his brain like loose teeth.
To his surprise, hot tears stung his eyes. He took deep breaths and refused to blink. They fell anyway, staining his cheeks. He was being melodramatic. What Colette had said was right. His chances of having it were miniscule, and if he did, he wasn’t going to die. There were all sorts of treatments nowadays, and positive people were living longer, healthier lives than ever before.
Part of his upset stemmed from the fact that he knew he shouldn’t be so surprised. He was bound to come into contact with STIs eventually. It was a miracle he’d gone all these years of being sexually active without a major incident.
Mike had done his best to put the risks out of his mind. He got tested every two weeks and used protection whenever possible. At the time, he’d told himself this was his way of refusing to live in fear. If he’d spent the past few years being stressed out after every shoot, he’d never do anything else. And he’d been so lucky. He’d honestly started to believe he was invincible.
Well, his kryptonite had turned up in its own time.
“Calm down, Harwood.” His hands shook as he gripped the steering wheel. “You’re going to be okay. You’ll get through this. You’ve gotten through so much already.”
He ticked events off in his head: his parents’ divorce, being bullied his whole life for his red hair and freckles, the angry teen years in which he’d joined the wrestling team and started working out, his parents throwing him out at eighteen—not because he came out as bisexual, but because he and Dad couldn’t stop screaming at each other—putting himself through college with loans that kept piling up, and finally, turning to porn when it’d seemed like a miraculous solution to his problems.
In a lot of ways, it was. Porn had been good to him. He was successful. Debt-free.
And possibly diseased.
God damn. He shook his head to dispel that thought. He needed to remain calm. He’d have two whole weeks of unpaid vacation to wrap his head around the news, and by the end of that, he’d be ready for whatever happened. He’d face this like he’d faced everything else.
Though if he was positive, that would be the end of his porn career. Not because Colette would fire him, but because no one would work with him once he announced his status. And he’d have to announce it. He couldn’t keep filming porn without disclosing it to his partners. Not just because it was a felony in most states, but because disclosing was the right thing to do.
His head was starting to spin from all the thoughts rolling around in it like a boat caught in a storm. One step at a time. Key into the ignition. Pull out onto the street. Drive home.
Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at the apartment he rented in West Hollywood. The building was set up like a series of two-story townhouses all crammed together in the manner of skinny books on a shelf. Mike almost never saw his neighbors, which was exactly how he liked it. He’d rented out his apartment to Murmur Inc. more than once, and he’d rather not have to explain why people in cheerleading uniforms and PVC vinyl catsuits were wandering in and out at all hours.
Unlocking his front door, he set his keys on the entry table, and swept through the apartment, crossing over hardwood floors. He passed the black leather sofas in the living room and a
large kitchen full of shiny appliances, followed by the spiral staircase that led up to the loft. He headed all the way back to his bedroom.
The light-blue walls and simple furnishings soothed him. White curtains draped over the wide windows caught the afternoon light. He sat down on the edge of his bed, phone already in hand.
Josh’s contact info stared back at him. Now that he was preparing to make this call, nervousness made his skin prickle. They’d left off on frosty terms, and they weren’t going to get any warmer once Mike delivered his news. It might very well be the worst news Josh had ever received. Why had Mike been so adamant that he do this himself?
They’d had sex a week ago, which meant Josh—who, from what he’d told Mike, had quit his day job—would be out of work for two weeks, minimum. Two agonizing weeks in which he would probably be inundated with worry, and fear, and bills he couldn’t pay. Plus, he’d have to call anyone he’d slept with since their shoot and tell them to get tested as well. To top it all off, at the end of all that stress, Josh might have HIV. What a perfect parting gift to mark the end of his single foray into pornography.
Josh will never forgive me. He’s going to hate me forever.
The thought dripped misery into Mike’s veins like an IV.
There was no going back now. He’d volunteered to call Josh. He had to do it.
With a final deep breath, Mike pressed the Call button and pressed the phone to his ear.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my former coworker. Joshua Clemmons.” Sana was sitting on the counter at the Globe with her legs crossed, but the smug look on her face made it seem like she was on a throne. “Here for a social visit, or have you come crawling back?”
Joshua sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”
“Oh, absolutely not.” She uncrossed and recrossed her legs at the ankles, making her colorful floor-length dress flutter. It matched the bright-blue hijab covering her hair. “In fact, I had a feeling you’d be back, and I’ve prepared a speech to mark the occasion.”
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