The Truth about Porn Star Boyfriends

by Sunniva Dee

“I’m happy if you can take my truths. Let me walk you through a day at work,” he whispers against my hair, then he inhales me like I’m clean and beautiful and all he needs. I think that it’s late. I think that the sun will rise soon outside. I think a blood red desert sun will fade into a bleaker version of Easter-yellow, and I should be leaving before this happens.

  “I wake up to you.”

  “I know.”

  “I eat breakfast with my PA or some of the actors I consider friends.”

  How often do you do it with people you don’t consider friends?

  “We shoot the breeze. Talk about yesterday’s events.”

  Who got to do which girls in how many holes? Do you talk about who double-did the same girl at the same time?

  “For instance, the weather was rough on the second day in London, and we had an outdoor scene that had to be re-scripted for a nighttime shoot. So I rented a motorcycle with my friend, Alicia, and we visited a few historic sights, like Canterbury, the Battlefield of Hastings, and then we had lunch at an old village pub.”

  Who’s Alicia? Has she ever been your girlfriend? Did you sleep with her on-camera? Do you see her often?

  Fingers spread, he fans a soothing caress down my spine as if he hears my questions. He doesn’t address them.

  “It’s makeup next, then we start shooting. We have a few breaks throughout, for lube, water, more makeup and such. Usually, the director likes to finish the scene before we break for food, but if stomachs are rumbling, that’s not happening.”

  That’s all too normal. Except the lube.

  “What about after? Do you all go hang out for some leisurely sex?” I won’t hold that back.

  He squeezes me closer. Pushes his lips against my hair and exhales. It gives me chills.

  “Do you guys sleep in one big orgy room, and just—just...”

  I’m doing this to myself. My stomach hurts again, the calming effect of the wine evaporating with my imagination.

  “No, baby girl. We don’t share rooms. Everyone has their own, and yes, the single guys and girls might hook up, maybe have a relaxed after-work fuck before bed, or they might go clubbing. It’s pretty common to meet someone they like in a club too and end up with a one-night stand.”

  He notices when my breath catches and guesses my thoughts before they’re fully formulated in my head. “But I don’t think I’ve ever seen a colleague do that when they’re in a relationship. I know I don’t.

  “When I was younger, I never looked for a steady girl, so it was a free-for-all across the board. But I turned twenty-eight in May, and I don’t crave every minute of the day to be about sex now. Leisurely sex isn’t my scene anymore. Heck the only times I even go out to dance it’s for my fans.”

  Great. Of course he has a following.

  I press my hands against his stomach to free myself of his embrace. He lets me, gaze trained on me and gauging my reaction. His eyes are so light—sincere—too damn honest to doubt. “Savannah?”

  “Yeah. I should get going.”

  “Sleep over.”

  “How can you say that now, after all of this?”

  “Because you’re the only one I want to sleep with. When I finish my day at work. When I shower and clean up and eat my dinner. I head to my hotel room—alone—and I call you. Because I love you.”

  I slept over at his house. I did. I just couldn’t go home after everything he told me. I didn’t accept the invite to come with him on the boat today though. I didn’t ask him if he was going without me either. If he is, wouldn’t he be inviting some “friends,” some Alicias or Silks? I don’t want to know.

  With Il Signore’s nonna at the hospital, the family spends as much time at her bedside as they can. They’re happy to have me in the restaurant this weekend after all.

  Mom calls.

  She sounds okay.

  I need to verify in person even though Paul is next door, hopefully keeping her busy with his garden statues and homemade fountains. He likes my quirky mother because he’s quirky himself. That’s my guess anyway. I don’t think I can handle any new rocks hurled at Status Quo at the moment, especially not from Mom.

  The boat is ready.

  I only returned to my house two hours ago, and this is what Ciro texts me? I roll my eyes. Frieda lowers the bagel she held up for me—everything or just sesame seeds?—and says, “That isn’t the porn star, is it?”

  “Yeah, it’s Drake Constantine.” I pull out the syllables mocking him even though each sound opens my chest again.

  “Well, at least he’s got a nice artist name. He’s no Jake daBoner or Cassius Erectus.”

  I snort.

  “Drake Constantine boned me in the ass last night,” she quotes as if from Shakespeare. She gazes beyond the bagel she now holds up like a skull.

  I chuckle a little bit, and Frieda smiles. Smiles so wide it makes me feel guilty over everything I’ve put her through. I know she suffers with me. She didn’t sleep last night knowing I was with Ciro.

  “What’s he saying?”

  “He tells me he’s got the boat ready.”

  “For that Catalina trip?”

  “Mhmm.”

  “You’re not doing that too, are you?” She drops the halves of the bagel into the toaster.

  “Not the everything,” I say. “Can I have the sesame seed one instead?”

  She presses her mouth together in a stern line but fishes the everything one out and drops the sesame bagel in instead. “Happy now?”

  “Very.”

  “You’re not going, right?”

  “No.” I want to slap my heart and my body for agreeing that we should say yes. “I already told you. I’m visiting Mom this morning, and then I’m working. If I get to do some overtime this weekend, I’m happy. I need the money, and I really don’t want to mope around the house.”

  I’ll wait for you if you’re asleep.

  I said I wasn’t going. Can’t. We

  I hit “send” before I can finish the “We’re over, remember?” part. It was easier to yell it to him when I was furious. Today, I don’t know how I feel.

  Why can’t you? He doesn’t ask about the We part? He knows.

  “He’s so stubborn,” I murmur and type again.

  Because, when are you seeing someone else for a f*** fest?

  He deserves my crudeness. Hell, he’s being crude every hour of every work day.

  He takes a moment to reply. Long enough for Frieda to scoot a plate and the tub of cream cheese in front of me. “Stop texting with him. You’re only dragging it out. You know that, right? I thought you’d blocked him.”

  “He has a work phone too. On-freaking-call cell. Ha!”

  “How do you have an on-call-sleep-around cell?” Frieda asks.

  “For great opportunities, of course. What else? Hey, we should have that for dating. An on-call guaranteed porn-star free, last-minute date app.”

  “Think that’s what Tinder is,” Sam says from the doorway. “Except not sure if porn stars are on there. Wait, is that where you found Drake Constantine?”

  “What is it with you guys? It’s only been twenty-four hours since I found out.”

  “Forty-eight, right?” Sam looks to Frieda for confirmation, and she bobs her head.

  “Whatever, and you’re teasing me like it’s no big deal?”

  I look down at my phone again, which buzzes in a new message from Ciro.

  I’m backing out of work for next week. I’ll be taking time off until we’ve figured us out.

  And now I’m exasperated. I jab my knife into the cream cheese, heaping up and smearing it hard over both halves of the bagel. Then I slam them together and grab my coffee.

  “Savannah, don’t be like that. We’re just messing with you. I thought you’d laugh,” Sam murmurs, hip to hip with Fried
a against the counter.

  “We’re just trying to cheer you up. It’s not the end of the world,” Frieda says.

  “Yeah. Okay.” I don’t want to leave on a bad note with my friends, especially not now. Arms wide holding my coffee and bagel, I give Sam a kiss on the cheek first, then I do the same with Frieda. “See you later.”

  “Tell me you’re not boat-trippin’.” Frieda’s voice comes out a little meeker than usual.

  “As I said, I’m heading to Mom’s.”

  Here’s the wild part. In the car on my way to Mom’s, I call Ciro. Not his work number or whatever that was, but his real number. I unblock it too.

  He answers on the first ring. I haven’t even swallowed my bite of the bagel when he picks up.

  “Savannah?”

  “Hey. I just wanted to say, don’t do anything rash for me. I don’t want you to lose another opportunity that can secure your retirement from that business.”

  He’s silent on the other end. Then: “Are you coming with? It would mean a lot to me. I’ve got some amazing meals lined up and sightseeing booked once we’re on the island. The weather is supposed to be beautiful. It was going to be the best four days of your life.”

  “God, you’re cocky. I’ve had some amazing times in my life.” Am I flirting? I’m not. I didn’t sound soft saying that. “Did you hear what I said, though? I don’t want you to miss an opportunity.”

  “An opportunity for a fuck fest?” The syllables slide out smooth as silver, the words natural like he’s uttered them a million times. Sensual like he’s caressing me with them. My breasts do that thing where they respond to him and pucker. I cannot believe their betrayal.

  “You’re copying me.” I pull down the dirt road to Mom’s house. Overgrown shrubs line the road, and they drag against my beetle, causing the paint to squeal with discomfort.

  “I guess I am. You’re a difficult woman to please, Savannah. In one moment, I think I understand you. In the next, you contradict yourself. Which is it, baby girl? Do you want me with you, only the two of us enjoying each other—”

  “Ciro!”

  “—as friends or as lovers, however my girl prefers. Or would you rather I go back to work and engage in a well-paid fuck fest next week? If it pleases you, I’ve got a Valley schedule Tuesday through Friday. It’s good money, for sure, but this one can be postponed.”

  I step on the brakes and stop dead in a pothole with my hand over my mouth.

  “Savannah. Are you there? I’m sorry.” He exhales guilt. “I’m talking too much again. I just...” His words end, but the apology lingers on through his breathing.

  I need to hang up. I can’t lose our connection. It feels like we’re tied together, a thin thread of desire and energy and jealousy and everything deep red that makes a person alive.

  “I have so much to think about,” I whisper. “I can’t think when you chase me.”

  “Am I chasing you away?”

  “You’re Drake fucking Constantine.”

  Silence. Then, in the quietest, silkiest voice. “Am I chasing you away?”

  I shut my eyes. My abandon wheezes out through my nose. I cup my hands around the phone, holding it there between the two of us, a shield and a connection in one. Status Quo trembles when I say, “No.”

  “The man is nothing if not tenacious,” Charlotte tells me at work, holding up the phone I left in the back.

  “Yeah.” If this was a week ago, before the Apocalypse of Savannah Nichols’ only serious relationship, I would have flashed Charlotte a grin. Unfortunately, it’s after. It’s been five days, and I’m dreading tomorrow when he’ll be heading back to work.

  I haven’t seen him since I had angry-sex with him and woke up with a rosé-wine hangover. Every time he tries to bring us up on the phone, I cut him off by telling him we’re over. Every time I say it, I want to cry.

  It’ll get better. I know. It’s a fact that heartbreak is cured with time. Truth is, I loved having a boyfriend. I understand that people probably can’t measure up to Ciro in a relationship, but other girls have regular, dumb boyfriends who are slightly cute and slightly good at making them come and slightly awful at reading their mind and fulfilling unspoken wishes. I don’t stand out from the others at all and didn’t deserve what I had in the first place. I need a trip to Average Boyfriendville, I suppose.

  I call him on my break. “So work tomorrow, huh?”

  “Yeah. You’ve turned down every reason I’ve come up with to be a bum and hang out with you, so I guess I should be earning money instead of lying around with Princess.”

  Ah Princess. I picture her big square face and giggle.

  “You’re giggling at that?” Mild surprise.

  “I miss her.”

  “And she misses you!” He says it so fast, so eagerly, he reminds me of a little boy, and shit if that doesn’t make my heart squeeze.

  “So... what’s tomorrow’s job?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  My heart squeezes again, but this time, it’s not the sweet sensation of longing. “No, I do. I want the nitty-gritty of tomorrow’s job.”

  “I’d rather tell you in person. Can I pick you up after work?”

  “No. Give up already.”

  “Baby girl, you want to learn details? They won’t sit well over the phone, and I don’t want you to hang up before I’m done explaining myself, and that’s what’s going to happen.”

  “Smartass.” I chew on my lip. I can’t stand the thought of what he’s up to tomorrow. I’m not his girlfriend, so I won’t ask him to skip a job for me. My imagination eats brain cells. Isn’t it always better to know the actual details?

  Ciro has done this before, decided for me when I’m unsure. Tonight, he’s at the door when my shift ends, and as always, Carmen flicks her hair for him. She smiles and holds the door as she calls out for me.

  “Savannah, Mr. Ciro, is here!”

  I walk over to greet him like you do all your friends. He and I are still friends, see? It’s why we’re texting and talking on the phone so much. I kiss him on the cheek like I do my roommates. Just the usual way. His hands rest on my midriff. They move a little, sending small shocks of anticipation through me, unlike with my roommates. I close my eyes, lingering a moment too long. He kisses the tip of my nose.

  “Ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  Princess barrels out of the pickup truck and into me, on a mission to bowl me over. My laughter comes from my belly, and it feels wonderful to wrestle with her until she’s in a wiggling embrace with me.

  “So many kisses!” I gasp out.

  Ciro holds the door open for me. “I think she likes you.”

  “No, I’m taking the beetle.”

  Ciro doesn’t look sad or expectant. He simply examines me as if he wants to burrow into my mind. I need to explain myself under that beautiful scrutiny.

  “It’ll make it easier to go back home again, after, you know.”

  He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I don’t mind driving you right back here whenever you’re ready to leave the house. Have I ever said no to that?”

  “Yes, you have.” I smile, dropping my eyes to the ground, and he chuckles.

  “Only when you really don’t want to leave. If you look me right in the eye and tell me you want to leave, I’m out the door with you in an instant.”

  I shake my head slowly. “It doesn’t matter, Ciro. I’m definitely driving my own car tonight.”

  “But look at her.” He points at Princess. She squirms, jerking her head back and putting on that big pitbull grin for me. “You think she wants you to drive in a different car than us?”

  I laugh. That dog has the ability to make people forget sorrows and principles. I’ve got a way around this one though. “She can ride in the beetle with me.”

  “See
how clever she is?” he murmurs to Princess. He gives her an affectionate smack. “Okay. See you girls at the bunker.”

  “How’s your mom?” Ciro asks while we’re on his balcony, overlooking the Valley with all the lights flickering and dying as people and businesses go to sleep.

  “She’s okay. Hasn’t had another bright idea since that last time.”

  “I’m sorry about all of my shit when you should be concentrating on her.”

  “So why are you stalking me?” I float a look at him and take the glass he hands over, the one with a refill of rosé.

  “Because I’m selfish.” His chin does a small, boyish lurch upward I don’t think he realizes that he does. It draws my eyes down to the miniscule indentation in his chin. Golden stubble. Not much, never much. Just enough to make me shut my eyes for a second, blocking him out.

  “I need you in my life more than I’ve needed anyone.”

  I open my eyes. “More than Silk?”

  “Oh yes, more than Silk.”

  I lean back in my chair. Send a stray gaze out over the Valley because I’m trying so hard to remain unaffected. “Since you have me—”

  “I have you?” His elbows go on the table, a drizzle of silken hair covering the lower half of his arms and begging for my cheek to brush over it. I’ve done that before. I’d love to do that again.

  I close my eyes against his hopeful expression. Why did he light those candles? I wish he hadn’t. We’re exes with broken hearts. Circumstances don’t want us together. Suck it up. I’m like Silk now.

  I meet his eyes as soon as I’m in control of myself. “No, I mean, since I’m here now, tell me more about Silk.”

  “I thought you were here to learn about tomorrow?”

  “First things first.”

  His fingers, his hand, his bicep. Every contour of his arm as he raises it. I know I’m crumbling his privacy with a single sentence, first things first. Someone with an arm like that shouldn’t have to breach out of his comfort zone to appease me, someone he doesn’t even have anymore.

  It makes me feel small like I’m on some sky bridge, extended above a valley, an ocean, the world, but he’s pushing himself, and I know why.