The End of Billy Knight

by Ty Jacob

  They recovered with a conversation about working out, and after lunch Kerry invited Mike to join him at his gym. Kerry worked out at Built, not too far from the Lighthouse, and they stopped by Kerry’s apartment so Mike could borrow some workout shorts. They almost didn’t make it back outside, but Kerry insisted, saying that he really wanted to work out, that he hadn’t been to the gym in four days, and that if Mike was a good workout partner he’d bring him back home afterward and fuck him.

  Mike had never worked out in a gym before, and Kerry showed him the different equipment and how to use it. They took turns spotting each other during bench presses, counting out each other’s repetitions and saying “Come on, one more.”

  It was different than Mike’s workouts at home. It was harder. Kerry pushed him more, taught him things like the correct posture for squats and how to do reverse flys. Mike enjoyed moving his body in new ways. It felt like a kind of meditation to put all of himself into doing the same movement eight times with an especially heavy weight, then repeat for two more sets the way Kerry did.

  After their last set Kerry leaned in close with a mischievous smile and said, “You were definitely a good partner. You deserve to be fucked.”

  Mike began laughing and getting hard all at the same time. Nobody had ever made him do both those things at once.

  When they got back to Kerry’s apartment, Kerry kept looking him in the eyes and telling him how beautiful he was. “You’re lovely,” he said, over and over, using Simon’s word, the English guy they’d first had sex with. He did his best imitation of a British accent. “You are so lovely.”

  Mike pushed away his fears of being HIV positive, as he did every time he had sex now. He was always safe. He wasn’t going to infect anyone. He got down on his knees and watched the intense green of Kerry’s ankh move back and forth as he sucked his dick. Later, when Kerry finally fucked him, it was even more tender than the first time – so much so that if Mike let go entirely he would have begun crying, not out of pain or sadness, but out of a kind of weightless joy.

  He couldn’t believe it when he woke up, still in Kerry’s arms, and it was already seven pm. He kissed him affectionately and showered and rushed out, feeling a little guilty that he’d left Dale home alone all day – especially after Dale had given him presents the day before, and taken such good care of him when he was sick. Yet in spite of this guilt, or perhaps because of it, he decided not to tell Dale where he’d been.

  The phone rang, jolting him away from his weekend thoughts and back to Dale’s living room. He let it ring at first, but on the third ring he got up off the couch to answer it.

  “This is Billy Knight’s agent calling for Billy and have I got a job for him!” It was Sasha. You could tell it wasn’t Dale by the way she talked. Sasha spoke in a higher pitch, and she was always excited and loud. Dale was quieter, lower, softer. Right now Sasha sounded even more excited than usual.

  “What’s up?” Mike asked.

  “You’re not going to believe this. Steve here at Cougar is filming on location tonight and his director and one of his models are sick, the poor things. But get this. Steve has come to me, Sasha Zahore, and asked me to direct the scene. A scene for Cougar! Big budget! Studio backing!”

  “Sasha, that’s great!” Mike knew how much this meant to her, and he was genuinely happy, although a little surprised.

  “But listen, Billy,” she continued. Her voice was frantic and trilling, like wedding bells. “They were looking at other models. They need a bottom. I decided to take a risk, and I told Steve that I would not direct unless they hired you.”

  “Oh, Sasha.” Mike sat down on the floor by the phone. “You didn’t.”

  “I did. I laid down the law. We’re partners! He was considering some other models, but I simply refused. And Billy, Steve Logan wants me to direct so badly that he agreed to use you.”

  “He wants you so badly?”

  “Let’s just say he’s finally come around. The point is, I’ve got you a scene with Cougar!”

  “Seriously?”

  “Baby, would I lie to you?”

  “No, you wouldn’t. Wow. A Cougar film!” Mike stood up again. He turned to the left, then the right. He didn’t know what to do.

  “Well, one scene. But it’s a start. Short notice, I know. Listen, you call that Pascal at Exposé and you tell him you can’t come in tonight. Meet me at Built gym at eleven. We’re filming after hours. Come rested because we’ll be working all night. I’ve got so much to do before then, I’m working straight through.”

  “I’ll be there. Sasha, thank you so much.”

  “My pleasure, baby. You and I are going places together.”

  As Mike hung up the phone, it seemed like doorways were opening up for him everywhere, and he was dizzy with possibility.

  22. Cliff Hardman

  ALTHOUGH THE MOMENT when Steve asked Sasha to direct a scene for Cougar had been brief, it felt enormous to Sasha. She had been gazing absentmindedly at a list of video shops she was supposed to call that day when out of the blue there was Steve, standing in front of her, looking feeble and defeated – like the king of a conquered country, she thought. She almost said so, but knowing the stakes were high she managed, albeit only barely, to hold her tongue.

  “Sasha,” he said, “So long as you can get Billy Knight, the scene is yours.”

  It was that simple. After all that time, just one sentence. She refused to show him her happiness. He’d made her work too hard for this moment. It was unfair, the lengths she’d had to go to, the years she’d put in, just to get him to give her this. So she maintained her composure, kept her face pleasant yet firm. Then slowly, with a kind of mock military seriousness, she said, “You will not be disappointed, Mr. Logan,” as though she’d just been given a top-secret assignment to save the world. Immediately she began asking about the logistics, the schedule, the crew, equipment, and supplies.

  Steve sat down with her at her desk. It was the first time he’d ever deigned to do so. He explained what he wanted, simply and clearly – enough footage for a final cut of between fifteen and twenty minutes, plus soft core stills for the box cover and any magazine spreads. The crew was to consist of Sasha, a cameraman, a sound technician, a production assistant, and a makeup artist. The two models, of course, would be Max Pole and Billy Knight. Steve would have a contract drawn up for Billy to sign that night.

  “I’m relying on you to keep things in line and keep production tight,” he said. “I’ve got a lot going on this. I’m paying for the entire crew, plus two models, not to mention the six hundred bucks for the location fee. This scene must be finished tonight, ready for editing.”

  Sasha lifted her right hand, her fingers decorated with fake red nails and a large, synthetic emerald ring. “Scouts honor,” she said.

  Steve shook his head. “I hope so.”

  “Doll, with Billy Knight in front of the camera and me behind it, you can’t go wrong. Is there a script?”

  “No need. Just give me hot sex in the weight room, on a weight bench, and we’re good to go. That’s what I want. Oh, and one more thing. You need a good name. For title credits we’re listing you as Cliff Hardman.”

  Sasha could barely contain her anger. She glared at Steve. He got up and took a few steps away. It was unclear whether he was leaving or seeking the protection of distance. She stood up at her desk and spoke through a clenched jaw.

  “My name is Sasha.” Her voice was a low, seething growl. “Sasha Zahore. And so help me, goddess. Nobody’s calling me Cliff Hardman.”

  “Then choose another name. Something strong and manly.”

  She realized then that she could acquiesce. She could decide to surrender this particular battle in order to win the larger war. What did her name matter, really? She could just let it go. She could shut her mouth and sit back down. But Sasha Zahore had never excelled at compromise. It was one thing to hold her tongue in order to avoid insulting him. It was quite another to agree to hiding
her name, as though it were something to be ashamed of. She was Sasha, and years ago she had come to Los Angeles to live out loud. She would not go back into hiding. Steve was pushing too far.

  She said nothing. She simply reached under her desk and pulled out her green vinyl handbag. From her desk drawer she grabbed her emergency lipstick and eyeliner, and her spare jar of foundation. She snatched up her address book and business card file. She threw open a filing cabinet and pulled out two pairs of high-heeled shoes. Then she hurled everything into her bag in a hot, steaming rage.

  Steve stared, the way someone would watch a tornado approaching, a mixture of wonder and terror on his face.

  When Sasha swung the bag onto her shoulder and walked toward him, he took a large step backwards. She paused, looked him directly in the eye. “Steve Logan, you can take your Muscle Party and shove it up your ass.”

  She stepped past him and walked out into the hallway, past Studio B and Studio C, and then out into the midmorning April sun. The sky was bright blue. She held her car keys in her hand. The door to Cougar’s offices swung shut behind her, and she did not look back.

  She got to her car and unlocked it, threw everything into the back seat, climbed in front and sat behind the wheel. Then she waited. In the rearview mirror she could see the front door to Cougar Studios. Any minute now, Steve would come rushing out, realizing that he’d made a terrible mistake. Not only was she a great director, but she was his best salesperson. He needed her.

  The door didn’t open. She slid the key into the ignition. If he didn’t come out at the count of ten, she’d start the car. One. Two. Three. Surely he would chase her. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Just how dumb was he, anyway? Eight. Nine. Christ. Ten.

  She did not start the car. She looked back at the door. What was he doing? Was he telling Günter to bring him another phone number? Was he calling everyone and cancelling the entire shoot? He was in there with an entire porn empire at his fingertips, and here she was sitting out here with nothing but her principles.

  Would it really be so bad to be called Cliff? Yes, of course it would. But just once? Just one teeny, tiny time? After all, once Steve finally realized how amazing she was as a director, surely he would begin begging her to direct, under any name she wanted. She could call herself Dick Cheese and he’d agree. Wouldn’t he?

  Then, Sasha remembered a terrible thing. If she didn’t get a movie for Billy soon, he might leave her. He might get a movie with somebody else.

  Steve was yelling at Günter when she walked back into his office. He stopped yelling and looked at her, confused.

  “Steve,” she said. “You win. You can list me in the credits just this once as ‘Cliff Hardman.’ But I want you to know that in my heart of hearts I am still, and will always be, Sasha Zahore.”

  Steve smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile. It was overbearing and triumphant. “Cliff, buddy,” he said. “Welcome to Cougar.” He put out his hand.

  Part Three: Weights

  23. Muscle Party

  SASHA WAS DETERMINED to make the best Muscle Party porn scene ever, damn it. She hurried out of Steve’s office and back to her desk. She had to call home immediately and secure Billy for the shoot that night. It was important to be positive, to be grateful. Even if she did have to give up her name, even if she did have to be called Cliff, at least she had a movie.

  Or rather, she had just one small scene. But it was something.

  When Billy answered the phone and she started talking, it seemed she was helpless to stop the truth from coming out upside-down. She just couldn’t tell Billy that it was him Steve really wanted, not her. If Billy thought that she was riding on his coattails, rather than the other way around, he would surely leave. Had she done a bad thing, to lie in order to keep him?

  After she hung up the phone, she sat looking at her hands. Now that forty was just around the corner, it seemed time was catching up with her, starting with the backs of her hands. The skin was becoming thinner and crisscrossed with tiny lines, like crumpled paper somebody had tried to make smooth.

  She opened her handbag and pulled everything back out – makeup, address book, business card file, shoes, everything. She was staying at Cougar. She took out her compact and looked at her face, at the relatively new and subtly deepening lines under the outside edges of her eyes. There was so little time. No, she could not take the risk of Billy leaving her. She had done the right thing. With him she was stronger.

  By the time Steve was finally ready to leave for the airport just a few hours later, Sasha had smoothed things over with him as best she could. He gave her the contract and she signed it. She didn’t tell him that she’d already typed up a draft script. It wasn’t much, just a quick set up and some blocking for the sex. There was only one scripted line of dialogue, but it was absolutely essential to the plot. She said goodbye to Steve, told him not to worry, and he walked out the door. She felt like she’d been handed the keys to the kingdom.

  She went directly to the art department. Her production assistant was named Toshi. He was little and cute. She asked him to go through the studio supply room to pull together the condoms, lube, enemas, and paper towels they’d need for the shoot, plus a spray bottle filled with water to simulate sweat. She also asked him to run out for a supply of snacks – cola, fruit juice, muffins, bananas and, because she knew Billy liked them, plenty of apples. It was fantastic to have a budget for food. There was no telling how late they’d be filming, and a hungry crew was a distracted crew.

  “And Toshi, doll,” Sasha said. “Bring me some takeaway for dinner. Anything. Being a big shot director makes a girl hungry.”

  The total budget for Sasha’s scene was almost four thousand dollars, which was a lot considering she’d made an entire film out of Banging Billy for half that. It felt like progress.

  She went back to her desk and started making calls. An hour later she had ten people lined up to be extras, a mixture of men and women. She didn’t want two guys just fucking randomly on a weight bench in an empty gym, as Steve had requested. Good sex was psychological. It needed to be framed by a concrete situation, one where the prospect of sex was a genuine possibility, however remote. Desire, she believed, was a kind of hope.

  When Toshi brought her a burger and fries for dinner, she was in the midst of scribbling notes on the mood she wanted, and possible camera angles. She wanted to be clear with the cameraman. Too many extreme close-ups, she felt, ruined a film. Of course you had to have insertion shots for confirmation that penetration was happening, and dropping them in here and there could be hot, but she preferred seeing everything all at once – beautiful, long shots of the top behind the bottom, holding his hips, or the bottom straddling the top, bouncing up and down. She wanted to capture the human interaction, the facial expressions while they were fucking. You could put two machines together and show their parts intertwining, but outside the context of human feeling it was nothing, just mechanics.

  When she finally set her pen down, she felt sleepy. She walked into Studio C, hoping to find it empty for a quick power nap, but it was being converted into a circus tent for Steve’s big-budget circus flick. Late shift workers were building platforms and hanging red and yellow striped fabric off the back wall. It was noisy with hammers and saws. She walked out and went into studio B, which was empty and quiet, almost peaceful. It still had the barn set from Country Cousins so she lay down in the hay Steve had shipped in from Napa Valley. She looked up at the studio lights, thought about the men who had had sex right where she was laying now. She’d watched some of the filming, and it was hot. If Sasha had the body, she would be a porn star. She would love to be that free, that unafraid of lying naked under bright lights, completely exposed. Her powder-blue eyelids grew heavy, and she slept.

  When she woke up it was already late and her crew was looking for her. She straightened out her dress and pulled the hay out of her wig. Then she gathered everyone in the hall and gave an impromptu pep talk about how they were going to make
the hottest scene ever. It was important to inspire, to give people a common goal and drive them toward excellence. They loaded the cameras and sound equipment into the Cougar van and headed toward Built.

  Billy was there, out front already wearing gym gear when the van pulled up. She saw him from the back seat. He was so damn sexy. There were still occasions when just laying eyes on him could cause her heart to do yet another tiny flip. She opened up her compact and checked her makeup in the dark as best she could. After climbing awkwardly out of the van in her blue platform shoes, she stood tall and smiled, “Hello Billy!” She was so happy to see him there, leaning against a wall, ready to be in another one of her films.

  Nearby there was her small group of extras. Billy stood separate from them. She imagined, for just a moment, that they were paparazzi, waiting for her as she walked into a fantastic film premiere. She smiled and waved. “Hello boys and girls!” The women in the group were wearing leotards, shiny spandex, legwarmers, and elastic headbands. The men were wearing biker shorts, tight muscle shirts, and tracksuits. Sasha nodded at the group in approval, then walked over to Billy and gave him a light kiss on the cheek.

  “Are you ready?” she asked, proud to be the one who knew him, to be the only one here to have earned the right to walk up to him and give him a kiss.

  “Ready and willing,” Billy said. He didn’t seem as nervous as he’d been before the Banging Billy shoots. “Where’s my scene mate?”

  Sasha looked around. “He’s not here yet, but you’ll like him. Lots of muscle, and tall.” She reached out and touched Billy’s arm. “When he gets here, give him your quiet charm. Make him want you. I know you can do it.”