by Sunniva Dee
“Really?” I collected the long, thick strands of hair spread over her back in a makeshift ponytail. Then, I angled her face toward me. “With what?”
“With mine.”
“Che sorpresa.”
Raul’s at the door. Large and even-tempered, he’s been my best friend since elementary school. He knows all there is about Silvina and me, not because I’m big on sharing, but because he tends to hover nearby. The guy’s big on lazy grimaces too, showing how he just can’t believe my issues.
“One of these days, you’ll find your downfall. Some girl’s gonna shake you up, and you’ll be all…” I’ll illustrate with a finger twist against my temple.
“So far so good, Nascimbeni.”
Tonight, he’s thinking we need to drink, and I’m thinking he’s right. It’s Tuesday, and Silvina’s studying. As long as she doesn’t claim my presence, I can get as plastered as I want.
She never claims my presence lately. Much too long ago, I took her to my room in Hidden Hills and loved her. She hasn’t caved in to me since then, and that is a long-ass time to be around the only fucking person you want and not get to make her happy.
I hate to admit it, but I really don’t make her happy the way we are.
“So The Lodge?” Raul asks, voice as cool as ever. He’s third generation Spanish in the States, family from Madrid, with no connections to the Italian mafia. He knows some shit, but for the most part, we’ve managed to keep him out of the loop.
“Yeah, sounds good. I’m feeling a hell of a lot like Irish coffee at the moment.”
He raises a hand at the cab and shoots me a side-glance. “Seriously? You planning to go down fast?”
I just shrug.
The Lodge is what it sounds like. With a front façade constructed by honest-to-god round timber, you walk inside and find a dark, cozy room with a fireplace, a few deep armchairs, and the rest of the space filled with tall tables surrounded by barstools. The bar counter isn’t that impressive. It’s on the shorter side but holds everything you’d dream of beyond its string-lit wood. Behind it, there are always cute girls working, some with the kind of glossy lipstick that reminds me of bubblegum. In the right mood, I’ll get lost staring at their lips when they smile.
Ralph saunters in, smirk low on his face. Raul and I love that his name’s Ralph, considering how he’s the most prone to do exactly that—ralph—when he gets drunk. He’s a newer friend, one of those blond dudes with long Viking hair the girls like to play with. Raul’s his opposite, handsome, but with short, dark hair cropped tight against his scalp, steely eyes, and a subtle five-o-clock shadow that makes women find him alluring and dangerous. Between the three of us, we can cause some damage when we want to. Tonight’s going to be one of those nights.
There’s a new redheaded bartender on duty. She’s tall and skinny, green eyes flirty as all get-out. She’s on me, making sure I get another round of Irish coffee before my first drink’s finished.
“My treat,” she purrs, and she really doesn’t have to do that. I’m easy. If I’m still standing when she gets off work, I’ll take her home to this bed I have, where Silvina has never been. And that’s a pisser if there ever was one.
My phone buzzes. It’s my brother. Considering the last thing we talked about was how much I love Silvina, I’m hesitant to pick up.
“Gioele.”
“Isaias,” I counter, already slurring a little. It’s what, eleven? Before I leave here, I hope to get in a fight. There’s nothing like a bar brawl to shake off a bad mood.
“Where are you?”
“Where are you, bro?” I say, which makes Ralph snicker. He’s easier on the laughs than Raul. Serious-ass Raul and his eye-rolls. At the moment, he’s showing pictures of his horse farm outside of Madrid. It’s not really his. It’s his uncle’s. The girls around him seem impressed though. Can see him ending up with a threesome tonight. He enjoys those.
“I’m at home with my girlfriend,” Isaias answers smoothly, and I think of him up there in Hillside, with perfect-ten Tatiana and her milky-white complexion by his side. She’s pretty bad-ass. Hot as hell too. Not my pick, though. My only pick is Silvina. Anyone else is just whatever. “So what’s the deal? Gianni told me you’d called him.”
“Gianni?” I clear my throat, gaining time.
“Don’t do this. Gianni Alexie, my director.”
“Director of…” I swallow another mouthful of Irish coffee after lamely trailing off.
“You want to play this game? Fine with me. I’m Isaias di Nascimbeni, son of Il Lince, owner of Lucid—the biggest adult entertainment studio in Los Angeles. And Gianni, one of my directors, just informed me that my brother, Gioele di Nascimbeni, had called him and let him know he wants to audition for a contract with my company. As a porn actor. That clear enough for you?”
“So? Do you have anyone better than me?” I explode. “Yeah, I’m ready to work for Lucid. Shit isn’t exactly going my way at the moment, all right? Silvina is driving me crazy. She fucking wants to date, Isaias.”
“As she should.”
“Shut your hole. And I’m not the slightest bit interested in my classes. I’m…” I start to chuckle. “Turns out I’m not that interested in law. Who knew, right?”
That makes even Raul chuckle. He squints at me, stare full of the humor I find in my own statement, because come on: a mafia prince interested in law? Only Isaias doesn’t laugh.
“You’re drunk,” he states drily. “I think you should go home and sleep off whatever it is you’ve downed. Then, why don’t you finish the semester and see what you get out of it?”
“O-oh, good idea. Isaias’ the smartest,” I tell Ralph, who grins back at me. “I should keep up the good work at school. Get closer and closer to becoming a lawyer. You know Dad wants me to be one, right, so I can help him get around the law?” I really put emphasis on “around” so my meaning isn’t lost on anyone.
“But mm-yeah-no! I’m great at sex. I’m a beast, okay, bro, so that’ll be how I’ll earn a living next.”
“Forget it. I’m not hiring you. Listen, why don’t you just try a modeling agency instead? They’ll take you.”
“My brother’s downgrading me to eye candy,” I tell the guys. Shit gets funnier and funnier for each swallow of Irish coffee I take. Ralph high-fives me at that, and the redhead behind the counter rounds her eyes and nods.
“Nah, man. That’s not how I roll. It’s all or nothing. I’m not just going to stare into the camera in a smoldering way. I’mma stare into chicks’ eyes that way, and then I’mma get them done too. It’ll be hot.”
“Will you stop it? You’re at The Lodge, aren’t you? Get the hell out of there and go home. We’ll talk again in the morning.”
I snort, getting Irish coffee stuck in my nostrils, and Ralph slaps my back.
“Are you all right?” the redhead simpers, and I bob my head, eyes tearing up with amusement and discomfort.
“You know what, bro?”
“Gioele. Don’t even.”
“If Lucid Entertainment won’t have me, guess who will? Harmony Femme. I’mma be your competition’s kick-ass new talent. I’ll make all their girls cream.”
6. JOB
GIOELE
I wake up with something tickling my stomach. It moves upward like flies—or maybe something bigger, like a Japanese beetle. It’s gross, but I don’t open my eyes until I hear, “Hey-y-y, hot stuff. Are you awake?”
Do I look awake?
I scrunch my eyes around the thundering in my head. I like the feel of it. It really nails how fucked up my shit is. Oh, right. I brought the redheaded bartender home.
Someone with a deeper voice groans. Wait. Raul slept over with a few girls. I don’t have a second bedroom, but I have extra blankets. I believe they used one side of my bed while Redhead and I did gymnastics on my side. At a certain p
oint, there, I was regretting my choice; the smaller blonde he brought along was nimble. Could have worked for Cirque du Soleil, actually. Hey, maybe she does?
“No.” I clear my throat and blink against the daylight pouring in through my window. No one thought of the blinds, I guess. I remain on my back. Rest my head in my hands and stare down my body at the offending tickles. It’s the redhead’s fingers. She’s walking them up and down my stomach?
“Sound like you are to me-e.” She bats her eyes. They’re surrounded by mascara gone grey.
“What are you doing?” I ask, jutting my chin toward the ridiculous puppet theater on my stomach. She starts stroking the fur leading down to my cock. This I approve of.
“Just checking out your abs. You’re freaking ripped. So hot.” She does that thing many women do, where they tip their heads to the side and pucker their mouths like they’re about to air-kiss you. I’m not a fan.
“All right,” I say and get a glimpse of Raul on the floor. He’s with one girl only, and they’re sleeping entwined on the carpet. I could have sworn I gave him some blankets. Cirque du Soleil Girl is missing. Ha, perhaps she took the blankets when she left? “I’ve got work,” I tell Redhead, “so I need to get going. You want another round first?”
One of her puppet-hands walk down my trail and fishes out my loyal soldier from beneath the duvet. He’s in full salute mode. We’re both happy when she pumps him a few times and watches his head glisten in anticipation.
“Yes, please.” She bites her lip. “I’d love another round.”
I give her a smile and flip her to her back.
Isaias has called me twice, and it’s not even nine in the morning. I love my brother, but if my father’s controlling, Isaias is worse. Ma believes it’s in the Nascimbeni blood. Problem is, he can’t do shit from where he is, unless he decides to sic his watchdogs on me. He’s been known to do that before, more specifically on our cousin, Gabriela. For now, I’ve been spared, but only because I’m used to having more of a beef with our father than with him.
I might have been drunk when we talked yesterday, but I wasn’t kidding. There isn’t much I care about at the moment, and I need distractions. Perfect if the distractions can pay bills and get me off at the same time.
He calls me again while I’m in the car.
“Mornin’,” I say.
“Gioele. I got a hold of Cyndi Brewer, the director of Supreme Modeling. I sent her some photos of you, and she wants to meet up in person. She’s looking for a type at the moment—long, dark, wavy hair and a killer body—her words, so the timing is good. She has openings at one and five p.m. What works for you?”
Yeah, that’s my brother for you. He doesn’t ask. He manipulates until he gets things his way.
“One,” I reply.
He’s quiet for a second, trying to decide if I’m tricking him. “That works for you?”
“Sure, send me the address, and I’ll check her out.” I have no intention of going.
“So you’ve changed your mind since yesterday? You’re not heading to Harmony Femme now?”
“You’re an ass for not giving me work at your own studio, brother, but sure; if I can earn a living off this modeling thing, I’m good.”
“All right. Well, you’ll thank me later for not letting you get on film.”
“Coolio.”
I call Silvina as soon as we hang up. Her voicemail is sweet, cutting up the message with a small inward breath that always turns me on. Belatedly, I remember that she’s in class already. “Hi Ina mia. Just checking to see how you are. Let me know if you need anything. Tell me you’ve had breakfast today,” I add last minute. Then, like I always do, “Ti amo.”
I park outside a three-story townhouse at the upper end of Lunar Heights. It’s a gorgeous area, no doubt about it, with fluffy green trees on the curb, the way we don’t see much of in the Valley anymore. The building itself is blue. Silvina would call it “faded cobalt.” She’s always been all about the colors. She likes to paint in her spare time.
I trot up the wooden steps, five of them, until I’m on an intricate balcony. The woodwork reminds me of doilies of the kind la nonna, my grandmother, puts everywhere.
An elegant golden plaque to the left of the door reads, “Harmony Femme.” I press the buzzer next to it.
Inside, old wooden floors have been restored to former glory. A white counter that’s high enough to hide most of the assistant behind it comes next. She’s got blonde hair twisted up in some knot, and dark-rimmed glasses. She’s not particularly pretty, but the coral color of her lips works for me. Also, she’s got a nice rack.
“Hi there. I called this morning about auditioning?” I did. And they turned me down. I figured it was worth it to come up here anyway.
The girl sighs. Lifts her face slowly. Until she sees me. Then she starts to blink behind those glasses.
I cross my arms and lean over the counter. That could be intimidating for some, but she rolls her chair back while she keeps blinking at me.
“I’m aware you’ve got official auditions in February, but I’m more of an impulse guy. I’m real fucking good in the sack, and now’s a good time for me.” I shrug. “I’m a student, so I can’t get off whenever.”
She’s done seeing me, it appears, because now she straightens in her chair, plants her elbows on the armrests, and her gaze flows from flustered to steel in five seconds. Fuck, I love that.
I tilt my head, waiting for her to throw me out. Sure, I want to do this—work as a porn star—but there’s always the temporary rush of being thrown out face first.
“Mister...?” She stands slowly, quietly seething. I grin and open my arms at her.
“Gioele di Nascimbeni, but Gioele to friends.”
“Mister di Nascimbeni. I’ll check if Mister Cuevas is available.”
“What’s Mister Cuevas’ first name?” I ask, pissing her off more. Oddly, she answers.
“Keegan. It’s Mister Keegan Cuevas, the owner of Harmony Femme.” She tips her head up, sniffing righteously. That’s actually cute. I’d do her in one of their films. Or drunk.
She makes a polite gesture toward a sitting area with some plants and a couple of loveseats covered in blue, industry-strength fabric. Then, she turns on her heel and doesn’t stop until she gets to the last door by an elevator.
The area is intimate, so she hears me fine when I ask, “If he’s busy, I can always come back. Just not in February. Exams, you know.” She sends me a death glare, and I let out a happy sigh because shit like this makes me feel good.
She knocks. A muffled “come in” sieves out before she enters. I don’t hear the words, but the guy inside is disgruntled about the interruption. She objects, which is funny considering how she already hates me. He grumbles some more. Then the door widens, and she walks out first, cheeks flushed with the effort she put in for me. Her next death glare lasts only seconds, but she still registers the smirk I’m giving her.
God, this headache. I need a Bloody Mary.
The guy saunters out of that office, hands in his dress-pant pockets. White shirt open a few buttons down, no tie. I snort inwardly while unbuttoning the four first buttons of my own shirt.
He doesn’t take long to notice me either. I have that effect on people. For a second, he halts, but then he moves forward, the originally glum expression wiped off his face.
“Hi there.” He stretches out a hand, eyes roving down my chest and back up again. I’m not into guys, but it’s not hard to notice when you’d have game with someone. That’s not the case with Keegan. His is the look my brother has when he sees something he likes for his business. It’s that of an expert, detecting opportunity and not sex for the sex itself. “Mister di Nascimbeni?”
“Yes, sir.” My smile is less over-the-top than with his assistant.
“Why do I know that name?” His eyebrows
are thick and dark. He’s been doing some shaping on them, though. Makes me think he probably manscapes too. I don’t. Or, I guess I will now.
“Not sure,” I lie. “You spent any time in Italy? It’s a common name in the old country.”
“Ah. I’ve been to Rome for business a few times. Got a couple of Italian studs.”
“Studs, huh?” I choke the urge to laugh, but he notices, and his eyes light up too.
“You find that funny? Between the actual job and the need to be extremely good-looking to make it at Harmony Femme…” He shrugs, leaving the rest for me to fill in.
“Makes sense. You got a minute?”
He arches his brows in approval. “Sure. Anything to drink?”
“Actually, yes. I’m jonesing for a Bloody Mary,” I say. “Hectic night last night.”
He rumbles an entertained laugh. “I think we can help you with that. Carrie? Make it two Bloody Marys. Celery?” he asks me.
“Of course!” I do say that with gusto, because I haven’t had breakfast yet.
In his office, he waves me toward a small glass balcony with two cushioned armchairs separated by a table.
“So.” He cracks his knuckles and sets an all-business stare on me. “What can I do for you today—Gioele? Did I say that right?”
“Sure, yeah. People call me Gio—Joe, if you will.”
“That doesn’t sound right.”
“Not my favorite, no.” I feel my nostrils flare with humor. “Anyway, I’m here for a job.”
“Yeah, receptionist?”
Definitely has a sense of humor.
“Not exactly. I’m a sucker for chicks, love to fuck, and I have no issue getting it up on command.”
He nods thoughtfully. Carrie slides the door open, clacks in on soft heels, and unloads our drinks. I thank her, greedily grabbing mine. I draw spicy tomato pulp in through the straw while he waits for his assistant to leave.
“It takes a little more than that,” he says once she’s gone. “Can you keep it up?”