“Yeah, well so is experience,” he said, his voice sounding oddly bitter. “It’s also kind of a given in my industry that you cut your teeth on projects that are very forgiving of mistakes while still turning a profit.”
She connected the dots a step ahead of him thanks to Luke. “Ah, yes. Porn.”
She could have sworn she felt him nod in the silence. “Pick any director that’s respected in Hollywood and you can pretty much guarantee he has a porn reel—maybe under another name, but he has one and it was there he met producers and others he works with to this day.”
“So I hear.”
“But I’d promised my mom I wouldn’t stick my toe in that field. Not only because I didn’t want something like that on my resume, but because I had arrogantly believed that I was so good that I could skip that step based on my own merits. Producers would just see my brilliance, I’d thought, and at least one of them would snatch me up without me having to prove how well I could frame a threesome.”
He stalled again, even though the end of the story was obvious. “So what happened?”
“The magical six-month grace period for student loans passed,” he said. “All of a sudden I owed payments of $1,500 a month when I was barely making enough to pay rent on the apartment I shared with two other guys. I was going to default on my first payment, and I had no prospects on the horizon. And when people found out, they were more than happy to point me at a fast cash-making opportunity. Five grand for five days of work, making five different ‘scripts,’ if you can call them that. It was enough to make rent, cover my payment, and give me a bit of carryover into the next month.”
He became silent again, and even though Rori couldn’t see him, she was fairly sure she understood what he was feeling.
“Just say it, Mike,” she said gently. “You’ll feel better. Promise.”
“You’ve already guessed it.”
“Yeah, but that’s not the same as you saying it. Me guessing creates a whole lot of room for me believing things you may or may not have done. You want to let it go? Say it. The secret is safe with me.”
Another moment of silence. “Yes, I took the job. And I completed it. And I’m not going to lie and not confess that at first I thought I was the luckiest guy in the world. All these women walking around naked, anxiously doing anything I directed them to? I could barely walk most of that first day no matter how many times I visited the men’s room. I was surrounded by beautiful women with perfect bodies who did things on a regular basis that I hadn’t even really dared to imagine. I got to put cameras where they didn’t belong and capture the taboo.”
“Sounds like guy heaven to me,” Rori said, again keeping her voice neutral.
“And that’s the point, right? Guy heaven, with the girls just being props. I didn’t get it until I was directing it and one of my buds stepped in to fix something that I was doing wrong.”
“Which was?”
He swallowed nervously on the other side of the line. “You’ve got to understand that porn wasn’t a huge part of my life up until this. Sure, like any guy I’d seen magazines and even a few videos, but all really light weight. Mostly Hollywood, actually. It’s just how things were with my friend base. A guy is less likely to buy porn when he has a mom who puts his laundry away for him and changes his sheets. There just weren’t that many places to hide anything dirty, so I just never had it.”
Was he apologizing? Rori couldn’t tell, but made a noise to encourage him to continue.
“Point being, my idea of how sex scenes should go were mostly based on Hollywood, where scenes are directed to appeal to both men and women. That is generally referred to as erotica—two consenting adults enjoying each other. And that’s how I was framing everything up when I started this gig, which made me a little off message while directing for an exclusively male audience.”
“How so?”
“Porn isn’t erotica,” he said flatly. “It’s about domination. Subjugation. It’s about portraying a woman with no will, no mind, and no wants outside of pleasing a man. Whatever pleases the guy pleases her. And the more taboo, the more intense her alleged pleasure. No foreplay. No reciprocation. The more forcible the man, the more orgasmic the woman. That’s porn.”
“I see.”
“Maybe,” he conceded. “But I’ll tell you what I saw. Once I got past the euphoria of all the naked bodies around me, I realized something. The women I was filming had no respect for me. In fact, some of them resented me. When I wasn’t around they were joking about me—mocking me and what I had directed them to do and how I was weak sauce and how I had to raise my game if anyone was going to buy the shit we were making. Then they started joking about all the things they thought should be done to me, and who could blow me first.”
“And… you didn’t think that was hot?” she ventured.
“Are you kidding?” he all but gasped. “I mean some parts of porn will always turn a guy on, but by day two I had learned firsthand that there is something very soulless about porn. Everyone’s desensitized and thinking about performing and looking good and what their next gig is. Some of the actors were lifers, but some were still trying to break into something mainstream. The only thing they had in common was that none of them had any respect for anyone else in the room. I was surrounded by women who would sleep with me for any reason except the usual ones. I know I’m explaining this very well, but it was messed up, Rori. I don’t know if I’ll ever find the words, but all I can say is that anytime I thought about my mom seeing what I’d filmed I felt physically ill. She’d be shocked. Worse, she might cry. By the time day five came around, I barely made it across the finish line. I got the shots, all first takes, and called it a wrap. I can honestly say that I’d never felt so ashamed. I think I’ll die without ever feeling that ashamed again. I’d filmed five films to be added to library of porn out there, and I couldn’t take it back.”
“Wow,” Rori breathed. This was not what she had been expecting from Mr. Perfect. Not even close. Deep and dark? Check. Blackmail material? Most definitely.
“A few days later when Luke called me and asked me to move into his place, I didn’t even think. I just left. I didn’t have a plan at the time, but I just knew that I didn’t have what it took to make it Hollywood—at least not in the traditional sense. So I closed up shop and headed back home. Then, when people asked about what I’d done in Hollywood, I talked about the legitimate stuff. No one asked about the other, so I never volunteered.”
“Understandable,” she said, not sure what else to say.
“Rori?”
“Yeah.”
“This is legitimate blackmail material here. I really need you not to be the one to tell anyone close to me about this. If they ever find out, it needs to be from me.”
“Of course!” she said quickly. “Telling never crossed my mind.”
“Good. Oh, and by the way you lied.”
That had Rori blinking in confusion. “I did?”
“Yeah. I don’t feel better. I feel like total shit. Way worse than before I told you about it.”
“Because you’re a guy who did a bad thing that you can’t undo?” she asked.
“Basically.”
“And if I said I think you’re a rare and goodhearted man?” she offered.
“Oh, please,” he scoffed. “Don’t overdo it.”
“A guy who is horrified by porn and its dehumanization of women? Uh, trust me, Mike, there aren’t many men who fall in that category. And even if there are, they’re still happy enough to take a look if they have a chance. I mean, I have to say that I find it a little hard to believe that you didn’t sleep with any of the women on the set. Are you sure you didn’t fudge that part just a little?”
“Absolutely not,” he said firmly. “I promised myself that long before that gig. No casting couch. No scandals. I might have worn out over time if I’d stayed, but I still had my values then.”
“Hmm,” she said thoughtfully. “And it sounds like you
kept them.”
“Some of them,” he corrected. “But no. I didn’t have sex with anyone on set, so at least I don’t have that hanging over my head.”
Rori processed that, not sure what she was feeling. Yes, she was a little disappointed in him. He was no longer Mr. Perfect, but in a weird way he almost seemed like something a little better. He was a guy who was desperately trying to hold on to his soul. A guy who loved his mom and wanted to make her proud. A man who cared how the woman in his arms felt and why she was there.
God, that was hot.
“Mike?”
Deep breath. “Yeah?”
“I’m glad you told me.”
“Well, I’m glad one of us is.”
She laughed lightly. “Although I totally agree that your mom should never know. Neither should Luke or anyone else in your family. There’s nothing to be gained from it, so I want you to stop beating yourself up for not telling them.”
“And be glad I told you?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the logic there?”
“Because,” Rori said gently. “Someone who does need to know this about you will be your wife. Because I can promise you that she’ll find out somewhere along the line, and it had better be from you. And I’m here to tell you, as a woman, that I’d rather marry a man who once filmed a few pornographic movies and walked away from the industry disgusted and ashamed than marry a man who disappears into the basement to get off on porn when he has a few minutes. And for the record, I’m not nearly so optimistic as to imagine that will be case. I think you’re a rarity among men, and I hope when you tell your wife about this that she sees and understands that. Sometimes it’s not all about what we’ve done, but how it shapes us.”
“You’re just trying to make me feel better.”
“Not really,” she said. “This is just the truth. The way I see it, you went against your judgment, did something you swore you wouldn’t, were absolutely disgusted by the results, and have never repeated them or put yourself in the position to repeat them. How is that not admirable, Mike?”
“Uh, I could list a few ways,” he muttered.
“Still,” she added. “I’m glad you told me. It was a good trial run for the next person you’ll need to tell.”
“I guess.”
She could tell he still felt horrible. That much was obvious, and it was hardly what he deserved after how well he’d handled her little confession.
“Mike?”
“Yeah.”
“If you rewind to the beginning of this conversation, I think you’ll find that it started with me telling you that I’m in the middle of sculpting a pair of hips at the moment of ejaculation.”
“True,” he said with some hesitance.
“That being said,” she added. “If I’m taking an innocent block of clay and shaping it into sex, I’m hardly going to judge you for aiming a camera at two bodies having sex. Maybe some other girl will, I don’t know. I don’t speak for all womankind, but what I can say on behalf of myself is that what I get from your story is that once upon five days of your life, you were the worst version of yourself and it made you so sick that you promised never to become like that again, no matter what. I’m not sure how you’ve got it in your mind that somehow those five days make you a horrible, horrible person, but I can tell you that I’m over it. We’ve all made poor choices like that on some level. Maybe the mistakes other people make aren’t for sale on adult-only websites, but I can promise you that there are mistakes that are much, much worse. You could have, for example, pretended to be in love with a girl, said every pretty word possible to get yourself laid, been irresponsible with protection even though you knew she wasn’t on birth control, only to hand her the number of an abortion doctor and banish her forever when she tells you she’s pregnant.”
A calming breath was his only reply.
“Let’s see,” she mused. “As a woman, which guy would I rather be with? The guy who filmed some people having sex once upon a time, or the guy who gets girls pregnant and then urges them to have abortions. Gosh. That’s a stumper.”
“Uh, I’m pretty sure most women would choose none of the above.”
“Right,” she drawled. “Because they’re holding out for Mr. Perfect. That guy who’s never made a mistake in his life and lives to sweep her—and only her—off her feet. Well, news flash, Mike. Those guys are a whole other ball of psychotic wax. Even if you throw them into the pot, I’d still choose you.”
“Okay, I get it,” he said, and she could hear a smile in his voice. “I get it, okay? You’ve officially made me feel a little better.”
“Just a little?”
“Okay, a lot.”
“Good,” she said, pleased. “Because you’re a good guy, Mike. Don’t let anyone make you forget that.”
“I’ll try.”
Rori smiled, and nearly tacked on three more words before she stopped herself. I love you. They weren’t casual words for Rori. It wasn’t like they threw those words around in her family, nor were those words tossed around among her friends. It had been years since she said them, and yet they’d almost slipped out as casually as good night or thank you.
“I, uh, should go,” she said instead, hoping her panic did come through in her voice. “I really do need to get this sculpture as far as I can tonight and I do need two hands for that.”
“I’ll bet,” he chuckled. “I look forward to seeing it at your exhibit.”
“I bet you do,” she said.
“And Rori? I’m glad we traded secrets. They may not be pretty, but it’s better to know that about you so I don’t accidentally do or say things that hurt you, you know?”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “And Mike? I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? You know, in case you go into one of those estrogen tailspins.”
He let out a full laugh this time. “Sounds good,” he said, and they said their goodbyes for the night.
Chapter 40
August
She wasn’t calling. Tonight was Rori’s big meeting with her matchmaker’s choice of men for her, and Rori wasn’t calling.
That couldn’t be good.
The last communication Mike had from her was a text from earlier that night that simply read, Off to meet the future Mr. Townsend. Wish me luck.
And, of course, like an fool he’d done just that.
What an idiot.
It was now past 1:30 a.m. in New York and he hadn’t heard a peep from her. That had to mean things were going well… that she liked the guy. Count Anton Olivier Leseuer.
Seriously, could the guy have a worst last name than Leseuer? With a French accent his name sounded like “le sewer” and without an accent it sounded like “loser.” It was a lose-lose. No pun intended.
If Mike hadn’t googled the guy, he would have thought Rori made him up. French, rich, and quasi-royalty. He was titled, sure, but Mike still wasn’t sure if that title was totally legit. According to his Wikipedia search, “count” was one of the titles ambitious families took upon themselves, rather than necessarily having it bestowed upon them.
And really, what member of royalty with any sense would ever decree that there should be a Count Leseuer?
But whatever the case may be, it didn’t change the fact that Rori was out on a date with Count Leseuer at 1:30 in the morning. Well past bedtime. And if Rori didn’t call?
Unable to complete the thought—unable to breathe at the thought—Mike scrolled through pictures online of Count Leseuer at a recent perfume launch. The guy looked like a total tool with his greasy hair. What was it with European men and hair product?
One thing was certain, the man made a habit of surrounding himself with younger women. He clearly liked them young and slim, like Rori. The guy was practically the age of Mike’s dad and he was looking to marry a woman young enough to be his daughter. How was that not totally gross? Because he had money? Because he was a count? And even more important, how could Rori prefer some old dude to someone her o
wn age? What was going on in her head?
Just when Mike was about to give up on waiting up for a call, his phone lit up with Rori’s name.
“Calm,” he coached himself. “Casual. Distracted would be better. Try to think of the Pledge of Allegiance in Morse Code.” Okay, that was a dumb idea, but it was in the right spirit.
“Well, someone’s up late,” he teased, picking up.
“I don’t know. This is a pretty normal for me these days,” she said back, her voice sounding a little odd.
Instinct had Mike on full alert, but again, he kept his voice calm. “How was the date?”
“It’s actually still going, but I thought it proper to stick to our bargain and let you know that I made it home safe and sound. I should go, though.”
Mike couldn’t see straight. He couldn’t think. It was 1:30 and she was back at her place with a French millionaire she was considering marrying. And while Mike wasn’t nearly so worldly wise as Rori, he was pretty sure what that meant.
“Rori,” he whispered before he could stop himself. But once he’d said her name, he didn’t know what else to say. For several moments she didn’t speak either.
“I really need to go, Mike. But sleep tight, okay?”
Sleep tight? Sleep tight? As if he’d ever sleep again with the image of Rori and a greasy French bastard tumbling into the sheets.
“Don’t sleep with him, Rori,” he said, the words falling out of his mouth. “A man who truly wants you will hold out for you. Make him suffer a bit.”
She chuckled. Not the reaction Mike was looking for.
“You are cute, Mike.” Neither was that. “We’ll speak again soon. For now, goodnight.”
She hung up. Rori actually hung up before he could say goodbye, leaving him holding his phone helplessly.
Chapter 41
Why had she called Mike? It had been stupid. Counterproductive. And yet, when Anton had brought up marriage, Rori’s heart had hammered, her palms had grown damp, and she’d been overcome with the need to hear Mike’s voice. His casual, unmanicured, sincere voice.
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