Heller’s Decision

by JD Nixon

  The next morning, the first day of Seductively Sextravagant, Bick and I arrived at the hotel at nine o’clock, leaving enough time to ferry his clients to where it was being held, ready for the doors to open at ten. He spent the drive over telling me all about his date with Dixie, which sounded as though it went well judging from the incessant smile on his face.

  “She’s a lot of fun,” he grinned.

  “Did you . . . you know, get it on?” I asked, not that I had any doubt Dixie would have ravished him.

  He threw me a glance of faked virtue. “I’m too much of a gentleman to ever reveal that.” Five seconds later, he added, “We sure did. Like I said, she’s a lot of fun.”

  “Geez, on the first date? What a slut you are.”

  I thought his face was going to split in two he was smiling so broadly. “She’s not shy about taking what she wants.”

  “She sure isn’t,” I agreed, remembering all the things Dixie had ‘borrowed’ from me over the years. Somehow, none of them had ever seemed to make their way back to me.

  “And she just happened to want me. I wasn’t going to turn that offer down, especially considering what a chick-drought I’ve had lately.”

  I shrugged. Who was I to judge? It wasn’t as if I’d never slept with a guy on the first date either and they were both consenting adults. Dixie wasn’t the type to let the world slip past her without grabbing what she desired most, and usually that was men.

  We ran out of time to chat, arriving at the hotel. My eyes nearly popped out of my head when I saw Roger and Barb step out of the lift to meet us in the hotel foyer. Barb wore towering red stilettos, dressed in a very revealing skin-tight backless, almost frontless, knee-length blood red dress, split on each side high up her thighs. Her boobs looked like a potential wardrobe malfunction, straining dangerously at the flimsy scraps of material that were barely keeping her decent, her nipples clearly discernable through the thin material. Her hair was piled casually, but artfully, on her head, soft black tendrils escaping to brush her bare tanned shoulders. Her makeup was trowelled on, with heavy emphasis on her pouty lush red lips. Roger was equally dramatic in black, pointed crocodile skin shoes, his shirt unbuttoned to his navel, tight black leather pants snugly cuddling a highly emphatic frontal bulge. They made a very bold and attractive couple. People gaped at them, including the normally poker-faced, professional hotel staff.

  Bick raised his eyebrows at me and rolled his eyes towards Barb’s cleavage, obviously deeply impressed by its magnificence. So was I, but more with the science behind her gravity-defying boobs, despite there being no visible evidence of any kind of support. If I’d worn that same dress, my boobs would have jiggled and jumbled like two rockmelons in a cycle of a front-loading washing machine, but hers stayed pert and perky, pointing straight ahead at all times. Perhaps she’d had some steel girders installed when she had her boob job.

  As Seductively Sextravagant was being held at the city’s enormous conference centre, parking wasn’t an issue for us. Bick guided the 4WD into one of the priority parking spots reserved for VIPs. An enthusiastic, and slightly sleazy, event publicist rushed forward gushing on spotting us arrive, his beady eyes firmly fixed on Barb’s unnatural assets.

  “Such an honour to have you join us, Mr Harder and Ms Biggen. Such an honour!” he effused, introducing himself as Garrett, proclaiming himself to be their ‘number one fan’. They took his extravagant brown-nosing with good humour, responding to him nicely. In return he appeared pleasantly surprised to not have a couple of tempestuous and demanding prima donnas on his hands.

  Ushering us inside, he gave us a quick rundown of their program. They had two shows daily. In the morning they’d give a narrated presentation of their hand-picked favourite scenes from their numerous XXX-rated movies. In the afternoon they’d host a general Q&A about the attributes of a successful adult entertainment star and the perils and benefits of being married in that particular industry. The rest of the day they would spend in their own booth, flogging subscriptions to their website or their HUMP Productions DVDs, every copy sold being personally autographed by them. I noticed Bick, wallet out, furtively counting his cash.

  I’d never been to a Seductively Sextravagant before and was wide-eyed with interest as we strode through the conference centre to the HUMP Productions booth. The doors had opened fifteen minutes previously while Garrett explained the program and the expo was in full swing, the crowd unexpectedly immense. There were hundreds of booths set up in the great hall, selling or advertising everything remotely related to sex – lingerie, DVDs, sex toys, sex aids, sex therapists, legal brothels, gentlemen’s clubs, porn websites. The local chapter of the Biggen Harder action group, HUMP, had a booth, as did the Department of Health and several community groups devoted to the counselling of, or advocating for the rights of, sex workers.

  A battalion of ‘hostesses’ milled around, giving directions and offering general assistance, ample boobs and bums showcased in the skimpy black lingerie they wore. Acres of flesh and makeup were on display and I felt simultaneously overdressed and underdressed in my casual jeans, buttoned shirt, jacket and boots. Not even in my direst financial situation, when I was down to my last dollar before I started working for Heller, would I have contemplated a job as a hostess at Seductively Sextravagant. Although to be honest, the workload didn’t look too onerous, though perhaps a little chilly. It was probably an easy way to earn a day’s pay.

  Bick, like most men would be in the same circumstances (and were, I judged from a quick glance around), was in seventh heaven surrounded by such lovelies. His eyes darted here and there, overwhelmed by all the stimulation and letting himself be distracted from his job of protecting his clients.

  I nudged him in the side as we strolled. “Mind back on the job, Bick,” I reminded him, instantly distracted myself by a booth we strolled past displaying gigantic, every-coloured dildos. I wanted to stop to have a closer look as some of them appeared incredibly huge from where I was standing, bigger than Heller even. I was particularly interested in an enormous dark purple one that disturbingly looked as though it had been slowly throttled to death.

  Bick flushed at my gentle reminder and applied himself to his duty again, probably hoping I wouldn’t go running after hours to Heller, telling tales. Though it still upset me when the men thought that, I’d virtually given up trying to defend myself over those types of assumptions. None of the men seemed willing to listen or acknowledge that, as the person who received the bulk of Heller’s admonishments for my work, I’d be the last person to snitch on anyone else.

  As we approached the HUMP Productions booth, we struck the fans and groupies and soon Roger and Barb were swamped by a mob of well-wishers and those wanting to check out their favourite stars’ bodies in person. Despite the fact I wasn’t there for security purposes, my training kicked in and I draped my arm loosely around Barb to keep her from anyone too over-enthusiastic. Bick looked after Roger, trying to balance giving the pair time to sign some autographs and say a few kind words to keep their fans happy, and ushering them safely inside the private booth.

  Unlike most of the other booths, theirs was a rather large tent, fully enclosed. Visitors to the expo were expected to queue patiently outside for their turn to enter the booth and wander past the merchandise for sale to where Barb and Roger would sit in a corner, ready to sign more autographs. A staff member employed by the centre was on hand at a makeshift counter to accept cold hard cash – or credit – for newly purchased DVDs, and to process subscriptions to their website.

  A couple of thick-necked uniformed dudes stood at the front of the booth – security hired specifically by the organisers for crowd control. Their eyes lingered on Bick’s Heller’s uniform with ill-concealed jealousy. A lot of security staff would love to work at Heller’s as he had a reputation across the city for being a hard, but fair, boss with his men, and the working conditions he offered were generally considered to be more generous than other security firms. As h
e offered top-level security services, he only employed top-level staff and was rather picky in recruitment. Consequently, he didn’t have the regular churn of staff that the other security businesses did. Knowing all that made me marvel again that I’d ever landed a job with him in the first place. Not that I’d managed to keep it, I reminded myself wryly. When he’d interviewed me, I’d no obvious talents, except for two, which Heller adamantly insisted were not the reason he’d employed me, though I had my doubts as he seemed to find them an endless source of pleasure.

  We made it inside the booth tent with no incident, all of us exhaling in relief. Bick stayed near the entry, deterring people from gatecrashing by his sheer size alone. With the help of the conference centre staff member, the cash register was speedily set up, the merchandise displayed, a looping DVD presentation started on the big screen TV, and the booth was open for business.

  A steady stream of customers flowed in throughout the morning, all of them well-behaved, loyal fans who goggled at the thought of being so close to two people who’d given them so much entertainment, inspiration and . . . er, relief.

  I plonked myself on a chair near them and took out my notebook, jotting down dotpoints of what I’d observed and been told so far, particularly my impressions of the customers. Trent always appreciated lots of background on his interview subjects so he could pick interesting, or even controversial, questions to ask. It was an easy morning’s work, Bick standing inside the booth to keep an eye on things in there, while the thick-necks did a good job keeping trouble-makers at bay and the queue orderly. Barb remembered to thank them both very prettily at the end of the signing session. The two men puffed up with self-importance.

  “No problem, Miss Biggen. That’s our job,” the shorter and uglier of the two stuttered. “I’m a huge fan. Seen everything you’ve made.”

  “Oh, how sweet,” Barb purred. I was amazed at how she was able to turn her erotic persona on and off at will. “Remind me to sign something for you later.”

  “I will! I will. Thank you, Miss Biggen. Thank you,” he spluttered, grinning from ear to ear. I smiled to myself. I’d seen it happen a few times now with different celebrities, including Trent, but I thought again about how special they can make a fan feel just by taking the effort to spend a few minutes with them and spare a couple of niceties.

  The thick-heads also proved to be efficient when closing down the queue, letting the disappointed people still in line know that Barb and Roger would be back later in the day for more signings. Right now though, they were due at the auditorium for their presentation of their favourite scenes from their own back collection. Remembering the trauma Daniel and I’d suffered from the door-to-door survey lady movie, I wasn’t sure I’d enjoy this session or not, though Bick carried a barely suppressed air of excitement giving every indication he certainly would be making the most of it.

  It wasn’t too bad in the end though, because Barb and Roger brought a lot of humour to their explanations of why they’d chosen those particular scenes. They even good-naturedly showed a few embarrassing bloopers at the end, bringing the crowd, including Bick and me, to tears of laughter at their forgotten lines and mistimed ‘releases’. I still found it rather disconcerting however to be watching them perform very intimate acts on each other and others on a giant screen, watched enthusiastically by a crowd. But they didn’t seem bothered at all when they flashed up on the screen in the buff, larger than life.

  As time quickly ran out, they declined to answer any questions, instead nicely reminding people about their afternoon Q&A session. Bick rushed them back to the booth for a refreshment break, including a hurried lunch, before re-opening to more eager fans for another couple of hours of signing. I trailed after the trio when Bick escorted them back to the auditorium for their open Q&A session, another free event. There were some very personal questions thrown up by the audience, which Roger and Barb answered as honestly as they could. They admitted that, yes, it could sometimes be difficult watching your spouse screwing another person, and that filming vigorous sex scenes all day could definitely spoil a romantic mood at home.

  “But it all comes down to trust,” said Roger, throwing a loving glance at Barb and clasping her hand. She returned an equally loving glance. “She trusts me and I trust her, even when we’re not working together. We don’t consider each other to be unfaithful when we have sex with other people for a movie. It’s our job, after all. We try to maintain our professionalism about it at all times. In any case, a couple’s marriage is always about more than just the sex. Sure, we have sex with other people as part of our job, but the caring, love, romance and companionship we share as part of our marriage, remains ours alone.” And that should have come out as soppy, but it was said in such a heartfelt and affectionate way that every woman in the audience, and there were a surprising number of them, melted, including me.

  After a few more questions, mostly about Roger’s legendary staying power, which he hotly insisted was a natural talent not a drug-enhanced one, Bick escorted them back to the booth for the final session of autographing for the day. We patiently waited out the rest of the afternoon, Barb and Roger not showing any signs of fading or losing their enthusiasm for greeting their fans and signing autographs. I guess the sound of the cash register busy at the other end boosted their spirits.

  Eventually though, closing time encroached, booths started shutting down for the day and visitors drifted away. I shut down my electronic tablet, where I’d been checking my emails, following up a few other stories for Trent and giving him a progress update. Although it was Saturday, I knew he’d spend at least some time online working while dashing between celebrity functions, a new woman on his arm each time. I didn’t want him to think I was slacking off on duty.

  With the booth secured for the night, we briskly walked through the rapidly emptying convention centre, all the customers finally shooed out by security and the booth owners packed up for the night. As we neared the entrance, a trio of menacing, dark-suited men, looking for all the world like cheap movie gangsters, stood with intimidating postures in front of another booth located in a prime position near the door. A very flashy sign announced the booth as belonging to PRON Productions. Tension crackled as soon as the men set eyes on Roger and Barb and they eyeballed us coldly as we walked past, dark mutterings distinctly audible, but not distinguishable.

  Roger stopped, his nostrils flaring with temper. He took a step towards the men before Bick pushed him back with a gentle arm, stepping in front of him as a shield.

  “Do you have a problem, gentlemen?” he enquired politely of the lounging group.

  “Not with you, pretty boy,” sneered their biggest man. “Just with the company you’re keeping.”

  “Maybe you should keep your opinions to yourself,” Bick suggested, still impeccably polite. One of the first things anyone learnt as a security officer was how important their own tone was to the potential defusing of a situation. If security went in aggressively from the start, it would often do nothing but inflame matters and make a peaceful resolution less likely.

  “Everyone’s entitled to an opinion,” said the big man tonelessly.

  “Except us, apparently,” spoke up Roger with heat in his voice.

  “Yeah, except you do-gooders, trying to shut down legitimate businesses with your over-active morality. Kind of ironic from people who fuck for a living, doncha think?”

  “You’re not legitimate, mate,” asserted Roger, flaming up again.

  “Prove it, mate,” the big guy snarled.

  “We all know who owns PRON Productions. We all know what kind of movies you make,” Roger said aggressively.

  The cheap gangsters laughed at him.

  “Let’s go, Roger,” I urged, pushing him forward towards the door to the carpark. “Forget them. They’re nothing but a gang of arseholes.”

  “Guess you’d know all about gangs and arseholes, darling. Bet you’ve had yours plugged a few times,” insinuated one of the ot
her men in a comment that made the other men snigger. “And if you haven’t, we’d be happy to demonstrate.”

  This time I stopped and turned around. Only Bick’s insistent hand across my back kept me stumbling forward towards that exit door.

  He did well to herd the three of us to the carpark without allowing the situation to escalate. Now that was something I decided I would tell Heller about.

  Chapter 7

  Bick bundled us into the Heller’s vehicle and drove speedily to the hotel where he dropped off Barb and Roger, promising to pick them up again at nine in the morning. I decided I’d join them again, even though by now I probably had enough information about them to thoroughly brief Trent. Roger told me they were having a special show tomorrow to talk specifically about their activist group, HUMP, so I didn’t want to miss that. And besides, I hadn’t yet had a chance to look around the expo and I hoped to pick up something to surprise Heller, even though I knew it would be a rare day I ever surprised him about something sexual.

  Back home, I tried to call Dixie to get the dirty on her date with Bick, but it went through to her voicemail. She must be working, I thought, hopefully at an acting gig and not at her burger-flipper night job. I checked my emails, but there were none from her. That relieved me greatly, not sure how I’d feel stealing a peek at a bare-arsed Bick. Or how Heller would react if he caught me doing so.

  Finding nobody at home across the hallway, I made my way upstairs to discover everyone except Heller on the rooftop, enjoying a barbequed dinner Daniel had made. His cooking had really improved, especially over the last few months. Not only was I thrilled to see his culinary skills and confidence in the kitchen growing, I was happy he’d found something to do that he seemed to enjoy and which took his mind from his terrible sadness, even if only for a while.

  I ruffled Niq’s hair, earning me a swat on the arm, waved at the twins and draped my arms around Daniel’s neck, leaning over his shoulder to kiss him on the cheek.