by Sansa Rayne
This may not have been the best idea I’ve ever had — it feels like I’m inviting her to be more suspicious. It stinks of overcompensation, but what else can I do to really, positively earn her trust?
“Pierce,” she says, setting the card down. “I really appreciate this. Maybe I’ll take you up on it later, but… well… Steph and I did some digging on our own a while back. We learned about your properties and business, and you’ve already filled in the rest: what you were doing back before you were Pierce Williams.”
I lean into the couch enough to make its springs squeak a little. “Wow. I… didn’t know that.”
“I hope you’re not mad.”
“No, pet,” I laugh. I kiss her hand. “It’s what I wanted. You just thought of it first.”
“Good,” she says. “I trust you, Pierce. I’ve let you tie me up, like, hundreds of times. I’m not worried about you. Chase, though…”
“I’ll keep him under control.” My nostrils flare, and I grit my teeth. Apologizing to Sibel was a good start, but I’m still pretty pissed off. “If he comes near you again, he’s going to pay.”
She nods, though her eyes are glossy with tears. “I shouldn’t feel like shit, but I do. You two have been friends for twenty years and now…”
I pull her into an embrace and hold her tight. She rests her head on my shoulder, sniffing softly.
“It’ll be fine, pet. I’ve been through shit with him before.”
She sighs as I rub her back. “Has it ever gotten this bad?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Once.”
A shiver passes through her body. “What did you do?”
I hate that she’s experiencing this fear because of me, and Chase. Giving her assurances that she’ll be okay aren’t enough. I can’t keep her safe if Chase hasn’t let her go, and I’m not positive yet that he has. It’s too soon to tell.
“I figured it out,” I say at last. “Made a deal I could live with, but it wasn’t my proudest moment.”
She tenses up but doesn’t let go of me. “Is it… something to be worried about?”
“No. It’s in the past.”
At least, it will be, if I can figure out what to do with Chase.
“Good,” she says while getting up and reaching for the memory card. “Why don’t we watch that video?”
I give her backside a playful swat. “Let’s do it,” I say, eager to relive one of the greatest nights of my life.
Maybe it’ll chase away some bad memories.
Nights like these, everything we drink is top shelf. It all tastes the same to me, but I don’t care. I’ve never made so much fucking money in my life, and unless guys somehow stop needing to jerk off, it’s never going to stop.
The casino’s VIP section vibrates with electric dance bass beats so heavy the champagne in our glasses thumps in rhythm. Waitresses in tight dresses freshen our drinks without having to be asked, and they laugh at our jokes no matter how old the punchline.
But it isn’t all fun and games. We’ve dealt with a litany of angry ex-boyfriends, scorned prima donnas and wannabe gangsters eager to get a cut of the action. Luckily, in Atlantic City, cash makes most problems disappear, and we’ve got plenty.
The word is out tonight that Chase and I are looking for new talent; it might take an hour or two for the call to spread, but soon some fresh face will be let past the velvet rope and told where to find us. And if she’s not twenty-one, we’ll come out to meet her. Not even underage drinking is tolerated when we’re around. Our operation is run by the book in every regard, and our reputation is beyond reproach. Performers know the pay is good, the treatment is fair and they’re not going to catch any diseases.
It’s the right way to do business.
“You’re looking excited tonight,” says Stacy as she sets down a fresh bourbon in front of me, careful not to spill it on the expensive new camera I’ve got on the table. As she leans over I get a quick shot of her cleavage, though I’m distracted more by the dark roots showing beneath her bottle blonde curls.
“Thanks,” I say. “I am. Ever heard of GoPro?”
She shakes her head. “What is that?”
I point to the camera. “The beginning of a really big new opportunity in the industry.”
“That’s nice,” she says. “Where’s Chase?”
“Here,” he says, returning from the bathroom. There are specks of urine on his trousers, and his tie hangs crookedly from a loose knot. He takes a seat next to me and picks up the new camera.
“Careful man,” I say. “Don’t break it.”
He rolls his eyes and sets it back down. Turning to Stacy, his eyes come to rest on her chest without much subtlety.
“Get you something?” she asks.
“Sure. Make it a scotch.”
I nod to Stacy with a smile. Chase watches her ass as she heads back to the bar to get his drink.
“What do you think?” I ask. “She’s not new, but if we don’t find anyone else…”
Chase laughs, reclining and linking his fingers over his waist. “Who, Stacy? Nah. Been there, done that.”
“Not with one of these,” I argue, indicating the camera.
He shrugs.
“Your enthusiasm is infectious, man,” I say, scanning the lounge. There’s plenty of talent making moves on the dance floor, bared long legs glowing slightly in the ultraviolet light.
“Sorry,” Chase mutters.
“Too much to drink?”
“No.”
“Tired?”
Chase shakes his head. “Not really.”
“If you’re not up for making a video tonight, we don’t have to.”
I’m really looking forward to working with the new equipment, but it can wait.
“Really, man,” I add. “We’ve got enough footage to keep the site fresh for weeks. Maybe you need a vacation.”
He laughs, winking at Stacy as she returns with his scotch. “A vacation? I have the easiest job in the world.”
“Maybe you’re fucking too much,” I suggest. “You’re overstimulated. Think you’d enjoy renting a cabin and going fishing for a week?”
Chase snorts. “When do you think I ever fished, Pierce? It’s not like I had a dad to teach me how.” He throws his scotch down the hatch and slams the down the glass. “I don’t even eat fish, for fuck’s sake.”
“It was just an example,” I say, snatching up my camera.
I wish I knew what was going through his head. Usually, it’s pretty easy to guess: women. He’s not kidding about the job — all he does is drink and fuck. He loves it, clearly. We’ve been filming for years, and I’ve never seen him so happy. The honest employment has made it easy for him to stay out of jail, and he doesn’t have to worry about whether or not he’s got enough money every night.
Something has to be wrong.
“Hey, come on,” I say, patting his shoulder. “Let’s go talk.”
He doesn’t argue, so I lead him out through the kitchen, avoiding the short order cooks and waitresses. We emerge into the alley and keep walking until we hit the boardwalk. It’s a warm night, though the breeze is cool off the ocean. Waves glitter like crystal sugar under the full moon, and the dull roar of jet engines echoes off the water.
“Okay, what is it?” I ask once we’re far enough from the crowds.
Chase stops and leans against a railing. Staring out into the darkness, he says, “I’m not sure. I’m just not feeling it.”
“Feeling what?”
“I don’t want to seem ungrateful, Justin,” he says. “Like I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
“I know you do, man.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not enough. I mean, I like it, but there’s something missing. I’m… unfulfilled? Not to get all namby-pamby, but I think that’s what it is.”
I nod, trying to understand. “Most people don’t dream of being a porn star. If it’s not right for you, I get it.”
“Thanks,” he says. “
But that’s not it. I love my job, man. Really, I fucking love it. But it’s not… real enough. I guess. Cause they’re acting, I think? I don’t know. I don’t know how to describe it.”
I shouldn’t laugh, but I can’t help it. “Not real enough? I mean, I don’t know how to make it more real. We’re not making skin flicks.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. That’s not… Fuck. I don’t know how to explain it. Or if you’d understand.”
Whoa.
Have I been reading the situation wrong? Is this about something else entirely? Has success and comfort softened him?
“Chase, is this about wanting a woman… in a real relationship? That would be normal.”
“Fuck that shit,” he snaps, spitting off the side of the boardwalk. “I’d rather shoot myself. I don’t date women, Pierce. I fuck them. That’s what they’re for.”
“Chase, that’s bullshit, and you know it.” I’ve heard this from him too many times; I want to push back, but there’s not much point. How am I going to change his mind when almost every woman he knows is some kind of sex worker? Maybe he does need a real girlfriend, but with his attitude, how would he find one?
We listen to the crashing waves for a minute; in the distance, a police siren cuts through the night.
“Listen, I’m gonna go for a walk,” says Chase. “I’ll try to figure out what my deal is.”
“Okay,” I reply. “Sounds good, man.”
He claps my shoulder, then walks off.
With my new camera in tow, I head back to the hotel. There’s a worm inside my stomach that won’t stop twisting, and I’m not sure why. I don’t think I need to be worried about Chase, but he’s never acted this way before.
I consider heading back to the lounge or maybe hitting up a few clubs, but I’m not in the mood. I opt to head home and collapse in bed. It’s not even late, especially for the hours we keep. After ninety minutes of restlessness, I sink into a shallow unconsciousness.
—
My cell chimes from my pants pocket, slightly muted but I’m barely sleeping. The clock says it’s past two, and that it’s Chase calling.
“Hey, Pierce!” he says, his voice slurring. “You up man?”
“Yeah,” I groan, shaking off the grogginess. “I am now. Where are you?”
“My place! You gotta come over man. I’m having a party!”
Great.
That’s his answer? He needed to go soul searching so he could figure out he wanted to party? Odds are he stopped somewhere for a drink and didn’t stop.
“It’s late, Chase,” I mumble, grinding my palm into my forehead.
“No, man. This is going to be awesome, you gotta come out. Trust me.”
Fuck it. Whatever.
I suppose there’s a chance he’s actually made some kind of self-discovery, and if that’s why he’s celebrating, I want to know what it is.
“Okay, I’ll be there soon.”
His place is only a few blocks from mine, so I throw my clothes back on and head out. I figure I’ll make an appearance and have a drink, then either stay or go. It is interesting that the party’s at his place, since he’s not one for having guests. We film there all the time, but that’s not the same thing. And furthermore, who’s at this party? Did he round up a bunch of the girls and offer them a bonus? Is it just him and a bunch of prostitutes and strippers, or did he make some new friends?
Maybe that’s what he needs — somebody around besides me.
I let myself into Chase’s building with his spare key and then climb the four flights to his apartment. As I get close, I listen for loud music or drunken revelry, but quiet pervades the halls. His building isn’t known for its sound-proofing — I should hear a party. My knock on the door makes such a ruckus, I wonder if I’m even in the wrong building.
But then the door opens, and Chase is there, a beer in hand. “Pierce! Come in, man, come in!”
As soon as I enter, I know I’m right. There’s no music or din of conversations. Unless Chase is throwing some kind of surprise party, something definitely isn’t right.
“What is this?” I ask, pulling Chase’s arm.
He shakes free, and motions for me to follow. As we reach his living room, I see what he brought me here to see. I understand what he meant by a party.
Oh god.
“Chase… what did you do?”
Pierce’s advice to give Steph some time strikes me as pretty reasonable, so I follow it. There are a few weeks to go until she takes the bar; I can wait that long, especially if I’m going to spend most of my nights with Pierce.
“Dirty Sexy Tragic” raised my profile so high that I’m now booking modeling jobs for every weekday, with the next month and a half fully scheduled. Even when I double my rate, it doesn’t matter. I still get jobs — and with reputable photographers, too. Artistic, professional and — best of all — non-judgmental. For the first time, it feels like my career has really reached a point where I’m doing work I want to do, and am getting the credit I think I deserve.
I suppose I’ll see how many of them still want my services after my next public performance. Pierce and I have been planning it for a while now, and I have no doubt in my mind the impact will be serious.
“Are you really sure about this?” Pierce asks me at least once every planning session.
“Yes,” I say, every time. It may set back my career, or land me in prison, but that’s not going to stop me. The message is more important.
I haven’t told my parents the plan — there’s no way they would approve. As they say, getting forgiveness is a lot easier than permission — and I don’t really need either.
Steph, on the other hand, deserves to know. She’s been with me for all my performances.
Hey, hope your studies are going well! I know the test is in a few days and you’re probably stressed out, but I know you’re going to kick its ass!
She writes back almost immediately: Thanks! Definitely stressed, but I feel good! I’ll be ready. How are you?
Considering the last time we spoke, her response knocks a huge weight off my shoulders.
I’m good. I wanted you to know, I have something coming up. It’s going to be big. I totally understand if you’re too busy now to talk about it, but I didn’t want to not say anything.
Thanks, she replies. Actually, I could use a break. And I’d like to hear more about it. Want to come over?
Absolutely! I’ll bring wine.
I explain to Pierce where I’m going and give him a peck on the cheek; in minutes, I’m in a cab, a wine bottle tucked under each arm. When I get to Steph’s door, we share a long, tight hug.
“I’m sorry I was a pain in the ass last time,” I say. “I’ve felt ashamed about it every day.”
“Forget it,” Steph says. “You were having a really shitty day.”
“Thanks. That means a lot.”
She shows me in, where every square inch of her kitchen counter and stove is covered in trays and cartons of Chinese food.
“I ordered us delivery,” she says, sheepishly.
“I didn’t know your building has a freight elevator.”
“Ha, ha.”
Digging into the food and the wine, we get to talking. We start with her, and her preparations for the test. With the exam days away, she’s reviewing as much as she can, particularly in areas that she feels aren’t her strongest. However, considering the work she’s put in, it’s hard to imagine she’s not totally ready.
“I mean, I’m confident, but I feel nervous too. It’s a contradiction, but — it’s the bar,” Steph explains. “If you’re not nervous, there’s something wrong with you.”
“Makes sense,” I say, finishing my bowl of vegetable lo mein. It’s so delectably greasy, I’m going to be paying for it later, but I don’t care. “You’re going to do fine though. You know your shit, Steph.”
“Yeah, I do,” she agrees, spooning herself out more rice and moo shu pork.
“What about Reese and Tan
ner?” I ask, lowering my voice, unsure if the guys next door can hear at all through the walls. “You hang out with them at all?”
Steph starts to nod, then stops. “Just once. After that night… with you… I was moody for a couple days. They asked me over for rugby; I didn’t have time for it, so I just straight-up asked what their deal was.”
“Oh. So what happened?”
“I found out a few things,” she says, smirking. “First of all, they’re a couple. Second, they kinda like… having a third… person. Man or woman… sometimes.”
“Nice!” I say, beaming. “Did you do it?”
Steph blushes, shaking her head. “No!”
“Oh,” I sigh.
Her cheeks balloon out, her lips sealed, and for a second she looks ready to pop. “I told them I’d think about it.”
“Steph!”
She laughs and sticks her tongue out at me. “What? It might be fun!”
“Yeah, no shit! Hey, if you want to do it, then do it. No judgment here.”
Steph pretends to rub something out of her eye, then reaches for her wine. “Anyway, what about you? Tell me about this thing you’ve got.”
I finish my third glass of Chardonnay, shaking my head. “I’ll fill you in on the details after the test, okay?”
“Okay, I appreciate that. But give me the basics. It’s going to be in public, isn’t it?”
“Oh yes. And Pierce is going to be involved this time.”
“Really? In public? You and him aren’t going to…”
I nearly choke on my wine at the suggestion. “God, no! We’re not going to fuck. That would be way too illegal.”
“Good,” Steph mutters. “Sorry. What else?”
Here we go.
“It’s going to piss people off. I think. Hopefully.”
“Sibel, forgive me if I’m missing something, but why don’t you just get a permit? Legally, it’ll make a big difference.”
“Well… I’ve already got one,” I say.
“Really?”
I nod. “I may have fudged a few details on the application.”
“Of course. And let me guess: you’d like me to be there to record it incognito.”
I shake my head, knowing what I have to say next will suck. “Actually, no. I want you to stay away. For the sake of your legal career, you shouldn’t be there.”