by Sahara Kelly
Donna preened, thrust her huge breasts out nearly knocking over her mike, and smiled. She was tall, blonde and gorgeous, fucked like a rabbit on command and enjoyed every minute of it. And right now, Jack could cheerfully have strangled her.
“Lemme get a drink of water, okay, Big John?”
He nodded and leaned back in his chair, ignoring the hiss of exasperation from Chuck who had sat next to him and shared the entire miserable experience.
“Maybe if we get Brad in here, strip him and have him jerk off in front of her, it’ll distract her enough to get those damn lines on tape.” He drummed his fingers on the sound control panel.
“Not a bad idea, but let’s hold it in reserve. We’re nearly there. It’s only taken, what…five hours to get ten minutes of dialogue redone. And it’s Donna. We knew it wasn’t going to be a cakewalk.”
Chuck snorted and watched Donna as she slurped down half a bottle of water. “Betcha five bucks she’ll have to pee now.”
“No bet.” Jack grinned.
“Uh…Big John?” Donna tentatively tapped a finger on her mike. “Mind if I take a quick bathroom break?”
Jack and Chuck exchanged glances.
Yeah, it had been a helluva long day, and a difficult one for Jack. Almost bittersweet. He knew, without a doubt, that this was going to be his last film. He was happy about it, and excited about the future, but it had been his life up to now and there was a certain amount of nervousness involved.
His future was uncertain. What it held, he had no clue. Just that Big John wasn’t going to be a part of it.
“So.” Chuck looked at him. “When are you going to make the announcement?”
Jack’s head jerked up and he stared at his friend. “What announcement?”
Chuck smiled. “Jack, we go back more years than I can remember. I’ve seen you drunk, horny, madder’n a wet hen, and horny. Did I mention horny?”
Jack chuckled. “Your point?”
“I’ve never seen you in love.”
Jack blinked. “What?”
“You’re the best director there is. It’s been an honor to work alongside you and count you as my buddy. But recently, it’s been pretty damn clear your heart wasn’t in it so much. And over these last few days…well hell, dude. She’s on your mind, isn’t she?”
Chuck punched him in the shoulder. “You smile at the oddest times, take Donna’s crap without losing your temper, make phone calls that are longer than any I’ve ever known you to make, and don’t put in eighteen hour days any more. You show up to handle a crisis with a pair of white lace undies in your pocket, which is so totally out of character for you, it’s equivalent to Britney Spears joining a convent, and you ask me how I know?”
He grinned. “I’m a lot of things, but I ain’t no fool, Jack.”
There was a long moment of silence.
“You want to take over the studio?” The words fell from Jack’s lips as naturally as if he’d planned them. He hadn’t, but all of a sudden he knew they were the only ones he could have said.
“Huh?” Chuck gaped at him.
“You’re right. I’m done. Finito. End of story. This is Big John’s last movie. But Big John isn’t real. I am, and yeah, there’s someone special now. Real special. And I want a life with her that doesn’t include spending my working days watching other people fucking their brains out.”
“You’d rather be fucking your own brains out?” Chuck raised an eyebrow.
“Well, yeah, that too. But…” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s different with her, Chuck. Honest to God. Sounds stupid, but…it’s just…different. That’s all I can say.”
He swallowed. “So here’s the deal. Big John Johnson is a name not a real person. Sure, people know me. But they know you too. You’ve just said how many years we’ve worked together. You know as much about this shit as I do—more, in some ways.”
He paused, collecting his thoughts. “So you’re gonna take over Big John Johnson productions.”
“Just like that?”
“Yeah. Just like that.”
A clearing throat recalled both men to the buxom woman standing impatiently at the microphone in front of the sound booth. “You sure I have to do this once more, Big John?”
Jack turned to Chuck and grinned at him, tilting his head toward Donna.
Chuck heaved in a lungful of air and reached for the mike. “Just once more, baby. But this time, close your eyes, ignore all the sound stuff, and just think of Brad Marshall’s dick, okay?”
“Oooh.” Donna giggled. “Okay, Chuck. That won’t be hard. Or maybe I should say that will be hard.” She giggled again and closed her eyes.
“See?” Jack mouthed the words to Chuck. “Nice going…Big John.”
“Up the ass, Chase, I want it up the ass…come in m-m-m-y ass…ooooh…”
Shit.
Jack and Chuck exchanged grimaces.
“Hell, it almost worked.” Jack shrugged. “But see how easily you took over?”
Chuck sighed. “It’ll take some getting used to.” He leaned back to the mike. “That was damn near perfect, Donna honey. Just keep thinking of Brad’s dick, okay? Once more please…”
He flicked switches and within half an hour they’d completed the re-record.
And Chuck had himself a promotion.
* * * * *
“You’re where?” Daphne stared at the phone in her hand.
“I’m at the studio…remember? The one I took you to…Saturday night…”
Oh yes, as if she could forget that!“Idon’t understand Jack. What are you doing there?”
“It’s a long story, babe, and I want to tell you all about it. Can you find your way here? I’ll arrange for the guard to let you through and you can park where we did the other night. Okay?”
Daphne gulped. “Uh…sure. I guess. Jack, are you all right? You sound a bit funny…”
“I’ve never been better, babe. Honest. Some stuff happened today that was…destined, I suppose. I need to see you—talk to you about it. How soon can you be here?”
Daphne glanced at her watch. “Um…about half an hour or so, I guess?”
“Too long. But I’ll manage to survive. See you then.”
The dial tone echoed in her hand as Daphne frowned at the now-dead phone. She’d called Jack’s cellular as he’d instructed, so that they could make plans for the evening. She had no idea that they’d include another trip to the porn studio. Or even if she wanted them to.
But if that was where Jack was, then that was where she would be.
She wondered what it’d look like in the daylight. Probably seedy. Or maybe not…it hadn’t been nearly as bad as she’d expected on Saturday night. And she’d been twice as bad as she’d ever imagined she could be.
A blush spread over her cheeks as she gathered her things together, picked up the heavy book in its wrapping—thank God the store had offered gift wrap because she’d never have had time to do that herself—and got ready to quit for the day.
And the phone rang once more.
Muttering curses that would have made a trucker blush, she looked at it and weighed her options. She could ignore it. But perhaps it was Jack again. If she picked it up and it wasn’t, she’d have to break some speed laws to get over to the studio in less than half an hour.
Sighing, she picked it up.
“Daphne, dear. I’m so glad I caught you.” Dr. Jane’s voice swam into Daphne’s ear. “I thought perhaps you’d be gone for the night, but I wanted to touch base…”
“Jane. How nice…I’m sorry I haven’t had chance to call you since you got back, but honestly, it’s been very busy. I was just on my way out actually…”
“Then I won’t keep you. I had to let you know that your first draft is excellent—I read it on the plane home. With the addition of your extra research, I think you’ll have a super presentation and paper to offer the board.”
“Oh wow. That’s good news, Jane. I’m really happy to hear it.”
And she was, although Daphne’s conscience reminded her that her dissertation had slipped rather low on her priority list lately. Right beneath lacy lingerie and a new perfume.
“There was one other thing…”
Daphne sighed and sat down again. “Yes?”
“You remember that man you were with when you called me a week or so ago? Jack? Jack Foster?”
Daphne’s spine straightened in her chair. “Yes?”
“I remembered where I’d heard the name.”
“Oh?”
“Mmm hmm. He’s a contributor to our college.”
“What?” Daphne’s eyes widened.
“Quite a sizeable one too. He’s largely responsible for the audiovisual lab upgrade equipment we were able to install recently. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but since I’m on the Board of Trustees, I get to see who signs the checks. Your Jack Foster is one of them.”
“Good God.”
“Yep. You found yourself quite a nice catch there, Daphne. Seems he’s a nice man, in spite of what one might think.”
Daphne frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well…given his occupation—it’s hard to equate a top producer of porn films with someone who quietly donates large sums of money to local educational facilities, now, isn’t it?”
“A…a producer? Of porn films?”
“Yes, dear. Did you think I didn’t know? Jack Foster is the real name of Big John Johnson. The very well-known producer who’s done wonders for the genre. So I hear, anyway. Never watched any of ‘em myself. Not good for the heart at my age…” Jane chuckled.
Daphne’s world was spinning around her ears and little dots of light were flashing across her vision. She was, quite literally, speechless.
“But I should let you go…come over and see me when you’ve finished adding in your extra research data, dear. I’m looking forward to it. Bye for now.”
“Uhhh…” She was grunting to a dial tone.
Oh. My. God.
Daphne sat, slack jawed, and carefully replaced the phone on its cradle like it was dynamite ready to explode. Her brain was in the same situation.
She felt sick, stunned and shocked, with a gazillion different emotions whirling in her gut and churning up into her throat.
She swallowed with difficulty.
He was Big John Johnson. Jack Foster was Big John Johnson.
The idea seeped slowly into her consciousness and sat there, uncomfortably, awkwardly, shaking the foundations of her being. And kicking rather nastily around her heart.
Holy shit.
Daphne rubbed shaking hands over her face and sucked air into her starving lungs.
Big John Johnson. Jack Foster. One and the same person.
Her heart drummed in her ears and she winced at the sound, trying desperately to pull herself together.
It was a shock. A huge great knock-her-knees-out-from-under-her shock.
She stood up and paced the length of her small office, trying to reestablish control over her body and her mind. And finally, both settled back into more normal patterns. Her feet worked, her knees stopped wobbling, and she began to let her thoughts process the information in a more rational manner.
They’d enjoyed a few moments of running around screaming with their hands slapped up against their ears, but enough was enough.
It explained so many things, of course.
Various puzzle parts slotted nicely into place in this new scheme of things. Where they’d met. Big John Johnson had been signing his work. She just hadn’t known her Jack was Big John himself.
Big John Johnson had to be incredibly familiar with movies and their production processes. She just hadn’t known her Jack was Big John.
And the studio? Damn, he probably owned the damn thing. No wonder he could afford a Corvette. She just…hadn’t known.
She stopped pacing and gazed unseeingly at the wall in front of her, as something very important occurred to her.
She hadn’t known.
She hadn’t fallen in love with anyone but Jack Foster. The man who’d touched her like she was precious to him, loved her to the brink of insanity and laughed with her at an elephant.
That Jack Foster.
The man who could make her heart do an odd little hiccup just by smiling at her with those glorious green eyes. The man who didn’t need jokes explained, and who could quote Bogart back to her without pause.
The man…the man she loved.
There was no two ways about it. She loved him. And the more she thought about it, she realized that it wouldn’t matter if he were a garbage man or a Senator. Well—okay, perhaps not a Senator. There were some professions even Daphne would be hard-pressed to stomach.
The Jack who had talked with her that first night in the video store was a warm, caring, intelligent man. He was sexy as hell, fabulous in bed, and had shown her nothing but affection and passion. She’d taken him as she’d found him, and let him take her…yeah, well, best not get into that right now.
Daphne realized something else. That if she’d known who he was up front, she’d never have let him get within arm’s length of her. And that fact really made her furious with herself.
She’d have been as guilty as the rest of the world and judged a man by what he did not by who he was.
Thank God she hadn’t had the chance to make that all-too-human mistake. She’d seen him as Jack Foster, nice guy, store manager, and treated him as such. And that thought led to another. Perhaps…just perhaps…Jack liked it that way.
She remembered her quick impressions of the people in the store when she and Jack had met. And put two and two together to come up with a lot of 38-double-Ds.
Her heart lifted. She loved Jack the man, not Big John the producer. It was enough for her. She could live with the porn thing.
Of course, it did explain why he was so good in bed, but somehow, she knew that their loving had meant something special to him. He’d made no secret of it, and she couldn’t have been naïve enough to fall for a line of…bullshit.
Could she?
Jerking herself out of her stupor, she realized there was only one way to find out. She had to go confront Big John Johnson himself.
She had to find out where the two identities met. And who it was that she’d fallen in love with.
Brave thoughts, she mused as she gathered her things together. What she really wanted to do was go home, stick her head under the sofa pillow and stay there for about ten years or so.
But that was the coward’s way out. She had found a man she was nuts about. He was worth fighting for, if fighting was what she was going to have to do.
Although how she was going to explain to her mother that her current boyfriend was at the top of his field in porn movies was another matter. A smile crossed her lips for the first time in an hour. Knowing her mother, the outrageous woman would be tickled pink.
With that comforting notion uppermost in her mind, Daphne headed off towards the studio and her lover. Whoever he was.
Chapter Sixteen
Jack stood in his office doorway and looked around, trying to come to terms with the way his world had shifted in so short a time.
It was an efficient room, designed for a techno-savvy businessman. He’d barred all the posters from this particular space, preferring one or two framed lobby flyers from the classics. Harry Lime, from The Third Man, stared down at his desk, and Veronica Lake tossed that magnificent fall of blonde hair behind Alan Ladd in This Gun for Hire.
There was really nothing that screamed porn. His large gilded “Dick”, the accolade of his peers for a couple of his hits, was buried in the back of his bookshelf. He didn’t care about awards. It was an honor to receive them, but he couldn’t have cared less. He knew he’d never be displaying that golden statuette from the Academy anyplace in here. The day the mainstream movie industry recognized porn as a legitimate cousin was a long way off.
And Big John Johnson certainly wouldn’t be around to see it,
if it ever happened.
“So.” Chuck’s voice sounded behind him. “Having second thoughts, Jack?”
Jack shook his head. “Nope. Not a one. In fact…” He strolled over to his desk and ran his hand along the shiny surface. “It feels kinda good, in a weird sort of way. Like a weight’s been lifted off my shoulders, you know?”
“Yeah.” Chuck grimaced. “And been dumped on mine.”
Jack grinned. “You can change your mind, you know.”
“Not a chance.” Chuck grinned back. “I didn’t want your job, but hell, I’m no fool. If you trust me enough to offer it, then fuck, dude, I’m takin’ it.”
He tossed the paper onto Jack’s desk. “There’s an article in there you might be interested in…knowing your fascination with old-time movies and stuff like that.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Mmm hmm. It’s about the Wildwood Theater. Looks like it’s doomed this time.”
“Oh shit.”
Jack grabbed the paper and thumbed through the pages, finding the article in the editorial section, and scanning it rapidly.
“God damn!” His mouth tightened. “This is just out-and-out fucking wrong.”
Chuck nodded, leaning against the doorway.
“Like we need another strip mall with a couple of high falutin’ coffee shops, a hairdresser and a dry cleaners, all of which will go under within the first two years or so, leaving us with more empty storefronts and a lot of lost jobs. Fuck.”
Chuck nodded again.
Jack looked up. “You know what this means?” He crumpled the inoffensive newspaper into a ball and tossed it with absent accuracy into the trash bin. “It means we’re gonna end up with nothing but the fourteen-screen megacomplex next to the mall as the only place in town to catch a movie.” Jack ran his hands angrily through his hair.
“It means everybody’s gonna have to wait in line, squeeze themselves into someplace that’s made for a kid under the age of twelve, watch films on a screen not much bigger than the average projection TV, and pay through the nose for the privilege.”