The End of Billy Knight

by Ty Jacob

  She turned and looked at him. “Don’t sign that contract.”

  “What do you mean, don’t sign?”

  “Tell Steve that you won’t sign unless he gives me a contract too. A contract to direct. For Sasha.”

  “Oh.” Billy walked over to the dressing room door. He stood there, staring at the bright blue sequined dress that she had left hanging on the back of the door. He reached out and touched the material. “I don’t know. I mean, of course you should have a contract too, but…”

  “I’m sorry.” She turned her back to him again. “I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t owe me anything.”

  Her turned and looked at her. “Why would I do that for you after you’ve been lying to me?”

  “I haven’t exactly been lying, Billy. I was, well, hesitating. Out of fear. And I regret it. It was stupid of me. You just mean so much to me. I get all confused.”

  He came over to her, stood beside her and looked at her in the mirror. He reached down and picked up one of her makeup brushes. “What if Steve said no to me? What if he said, ‘Fine, I don’t want you if you come with Sasha.’”

  “You’re right. Absolutely right. I don’t want to drag you down with me. That wouldn’t be fair. I’m a fat monkey on your back, some horrible weight you’re carrying. You go on without me. I’ll be fine.” She yanked off her wig and looked in the mirror. “I’m Cliff Hardman.”

  Mike put down the brush. “Stop it.”

  “The eighties will be over soon. Sasha is history. The nineties will be all about Cliff Hardman. That’s me! Cliff! Cliff!”

  “Stop.”

  “Call me CLIFF!”

  Suddenly Mike exploded with anger, his voice bouncing off the walls of the tiny room. “Shut the fuck up, Dale!”

  Dale, stunned, set the wig on the counter, leaned forward and opened the jar of cold cream, then began rubbing it into his cheeks.

  Mike sat back down in the chair near him, but Dale ignored him. They sat in silence for several minutes.

  Finally, staring at the floor, Mike whispered the word. “Okay.”

  Dale’s face was covered in a white mask of cold cream. He turned and looked at Mike. “What?”

  “I’ll do it. After all, we’re partners.”

  Dale couldn’t believe it. He felt like his heart might burst. “Really?” he said. “You won’t sign unless Sasha signs too?”

  “Sure.”

  “There are no promises,” Dale said. “Steve might sign us both, but he could just as easily become furious and dump us both. You’ll take that chance? Don’t play with me, now. Do you seriously mean that you’ll do this?”

  Mike nodded, and he looked almost surprised. “Yes,” he said. “I do.”

  Part Four: Silver Dicks

  32. And the Winner Is

  MIKE WAS STANDING at the bar in a crowded theatre lobby as he dug a finger into the collar of his tuxedo shirt and pulled at his bow tie.

  “Here you go.” The bartender pushed a gin and tonic toward him. “That’s three fifty.”

  The smallest bill Mike had in his wallet was a hundred. “It’s all I have,” he said, handing it over.

  The bartender raised an eyebrow. “I can’t break that.” He looked around. “Look, it’s on the house.” He winked and turned to take care of someone else.

  Mike took a sip and looked at the old theatre around him. It had seen better days. Somebody had tried to spruce the lobby up a bit for the occasion, but the silver garland strung across the doorframes only made the room seem even shabbier. A large banner read, “1993 Silver Dick Awards.”

  There were scuffmarks on the walls and the carpet was worn thin in places. Even so, the people filling up the room looked amazing. There were well-built, handsome men everywhere, and almost every one of them was wearing a black tie. The women in the room wore evening gowns, as did some of the men. Everybody had cleaned up well.

  Luke Champion was on the other side of the lobby, holding a drink and talking with two other models. His tuxedo was skintight black leather from head to toe, and his muscular body filled it out nicely. The two models he was with were less famous than Luke, but then again most everyone here was. Mike knew who they were. One was Jeff Shaw, whose career had almost been ruined last year when an ex-boyfriend released a video of him letting a dog lick gravy off his balls, and the other was Kevin Bender, whose legendary dick turned sharply to the left. Many bottoms were afraid of Bender. Mike wondered what it would be like.

  Bender said something now, and in response Luke tipped back his five-o’clock shadow and threw laughter at the ceiling. Mike had met Luke on several occasions, but each time the superstar top had been distant and aloof, not talking and laughing like this, not smiling. Each time Mike’s heart fell.

  “He’s gorgeous,” the bartender said.

  “Huh?”

  “Luke Champion. He’s gorgeous.”

  “Oh, yeah. He’s okay.”

  “Okay? He’s a fucking god. You’ve met him, haven’t you? What’s he like?”

  “He doesn’t seem to remember me.”

  “Doesn’t remember you? I doubt that.” The bartender smiled again, this time more flirtatiously. There was something genuine in his smile, almost boyish. His dark black hair contrasted nicely with his rosy, flushed cheeks.

  Mike shrugged. “He’s Luke Champion. I’m just some bottom.”

  The bartender rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. Just some bottom, my ass.”

  “No. My ass,” Mike said, smiling.

  “I’m Greg,” the bartender said, and he smiled back. “Are you here alone tonight?”

  “No, I’m with someone.” Mike looked around the room.

  “Well, listen, I’m sure this happens to you all the time, but, well, here’s my number.” Greg was already writing on a bar napkin. “If you ever want to meet for a drink, or whatever.”

  As Mike said thanks and took the napkin, somebody came up and grabbed his elbow.

  “You’re Billy Knight,” a voice said.

  When he turned, he saw an old man standing right behind him. His eyes were red and watery. His face was blotchy, and his stomach was huge.

  “Yes, I am.” Mike smiled. It was important always to smile, to be pleasant to the people who recognized you.

  “I’ve seen all your movies. I’m your biggest fan. Will you sign me?” Suddenly the old man was pulling up his shirt. There, across his distended belly, were the signatures of at least twenty other models who were there that night. The man held out a black pen. His stomach was blotchier than his face.

  “Sure,” Mike said, his smile frozen into politeness. In the muddle of names he saw Luke Champion’s signature, larger than the rest. He signed above it, slightly larger, just under the man’s right nipple. His hand rubbed against the man’s skin. “That’s quite a collection you have there,” he said as he gave back the pen.

  “Yes! Touched by all these porn stars! How lucky am I?” There was a fanatical eagerness in the man’s smile. “I won’t bathe for weeks!”

  Mike leaned forward and put a hand on the man’s shoulder. He knew how to make people feel special, and he knew that the sole reason he was now able to bring in $1,000 per scene was because people like this bought his videos. He had to remember to be grateful. The old man would probably tell his friends about this moment for years to come, about how one night Billy Knight put a hand on his shoulder and smiled. It was an easy thing to give.

  “Which of my movies is your favorite?” Mike asked. It was a selfish question. He always wanted to know.

  “Oh, it has to be Big Top Bottoms. You with that sexy ringmaster, and then the strongman. Amazing.”

  Mike nodded. “That was my first full-length video with Cougar.” It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it was only four years.

  “I know. I’ve got your entire videography memorized. Even your very first movie, Banging Billy, although not quite as professional as your Cougar films, is absolutely fantastic.”

  Banging Billy
had developed a bit of a cult following among Mike’s highly dedicated fans. It was re-released by Cougar two years ago, when they bought the rights from Stunning Productions.

  “Thanks. I was so damn nervous when we made that.”

  “You? Billy Knight? Nervous? Impossible.”

  “No, really. I was. I mean I loved it, don’t get me wrong. But I was nervous at first.” Mike paused. “How about my more recent movies? How do you like those?”

  “Oh, those are good too.”

  He wondered if it was just his imagination, or if the man’s voice sounded less enthusiastic. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bender laughing with Luke on the other side of the room. “You know,” he said, “for your autographs, you should get Kevin Bender too. See? Over there.” He pointed through the crowd. “I hear even his signature is crooked.”

  As the man laughed and craned his neck, Mike said, “Now, if you’ll please excuse me,” and then he slipped away, offering a nod to the bartender as he went. He heard the old man yell out, “Nice meeting you, Billy!” and Mike waved back a little goodbye. He couldn’t help wondering how the guy had gotten in. Tonight was invitation only.

  Mike headed toward the back wall, pretending he was walking toward somebody in particular. Other people said, “Hi Billy,” as he passed, and he smiled and nodded. He knew pretty much everybody of any consequence in the room – the other established models, the directors, the producers and cameramen. It was true that he didn’t know all the little production assistants, the editors, or some of the new models, but it was safe to say they knew him, or rather they knew Billy Knight.

  “Billy, good luck tonight!” somebody said. Mike didn’t know the guy, but he smiled back and held up two crossed fingers in the air as he walked on.

  Years before, he’d figured out that nobody liked an arrogant porn star, not really. People might pretend to, but behind their backs they said terrible things. It happened time and time again. He’d watched the models with long careers and realized that the way to make a career last was to be liked, be easy to work with. Too many guys showed up for shoots strung out, late, or – it was hard to believe – didn’t show up at all. Mike had carefully built a reputation for being hardworking and professional. The average model’s career lasted only three years. Mike was now in his fourth. He was concentrating on longevity.

  He saw the back of Steve Logan’s head, the old army-style brush cut, and he tried veering off to the right, but it was too late. Steve had turned and was already walking over.

  “Billy! How are you?” Steve gave Mike a handshake that was a little too strong. “It’s been a while.”

  “Yeah, it has. I’m good, thanks. You?”

  “Oh, great. Never better. Keep churnin’ out the fuck flicks.” Steve thrust his hips lewdly.

  “I saw Cougar’s latest movie,” Mike said. “That new bottom’s hot.”

  “Harry Hole? He’s something, ain’t he? Quite an ass on that boy.”

  “Definitely.” Throughout the 80s most of the popular models were hairless, with waxed chests and shaved assholes. This new Harry Hole was going against all that. He looked more like a 70s model, with a hairy chest and a manpussy to match. Mike himself was naturally not very hairy, so he’d never had to wax his chest, but he still always shaved his hole. Hairy assholes always looked dirty to him. Even so, he wondered now if a shaved hole would eventually date him. He’d have to watch the trends.

  “Harry’s talented,” Steve said, stroking his mustache, “but he’s no Billy Knight. Nobody has your enthusiasm on screen. When are you going to work for me again?”

  “Don’t know.” Mike gave a friendly, challenging smile. “When are you going to make it worth my while?” There was a difference between arrogance and standing up for yourself. There was a place where one ended and the other began.

  The exclusive contract Mike had with Cougar ended the year before, and he’d chosen not to sign on with Steve again. He wanted to pick and choose his own films, deciding which directors and studios he wanted to work with, jumping from one to the next with every project. He absolutely refused to make a movie unless he could choose his scene partners. It had become common knowledge in the industry that you didn’t fuck Billy Knight unless Billy Knight wanted you to. So far, the only one who had refused to do a scene with him was Luke Champion.

  Since leaving Cougar, Mike had been managing his career more or less himself. At this point it was important not to be overexposed. In his first three years he’d made over 30 hardcore videos. He’d done 92 scenes in total. Mike knew that his initial rush of films had to be carefully followed up with not-too-frequent, top quality releases. A new Billy Knight movie had to be an occasion. People would have to wait for it.

  He felt that his career was at a crossroads. He could cement his superstar status, getting himself firmly planted at the top of the heap with the major superstars, or he could slip downhill, becoming just another fading model who had stayed too long at the fair. The $1,000 Mike pulled in for a scene was nothing compared to someone like Luke Champion, who could pull as much as $8,000 per scene. Not only did Mike still dream of doing a scene with Luke, but he wanted to make the same money as Luke. He wanted to be that famous, that highly sought after.

  “I got you started in this business,” Steve said now. “When are you going to pay me back?”

  “Steve, my friend.” Mike put his hand on Steve’s back. He knew he could say almost anything, be as confrontational as he wanted, as long as he said it with a smile on his face, or maybe a flirtatious nudge. This was how he dealt with men like Steve. “First of all, Sasha got me started. You took over from there. And while I’m really grateful you gave me that exclusive contract, let’s talk about who owes who. For my one-off fee, you’ve got footage of me that you can sell and sell and sell. When you put that footage in multiple movies, there’s no additional payment for me. You’re still making a shitload of money off me, but right now I’m not making anything off you. So when are you going to pay me back?”

  “What are you talking about? Model royalties on video sales? You know that’s rare.”

  “Might be rare, but it’s fair.” He smiled and playfully punched Steve’s arm.

  “Wasn’t in your contract,” Steve said.

  “That’s right. My problem’s not with you, it’s with your contracts. And that’s why I’m not working for you.”

  “Well, until you come to your senses, I guess we’ll just keep recycling what we’ve got. You know you’ll be in a new Cougar movie soon. The Best of Billy Knight: the Cougar Years. I haven’t officially announced it yet. It’s a bit under wraps, but it should be out soon.”

  “Steve, I wish you wouldn’t. I don’t want to be overexposed.”

  “Overexposed? It’s a little late for that, don’t you think? Beside, you got no say in it, do you Billy?”

  “So what are you going to pay me for it?”

  Steve laughed. “Like I said. Wasn’t in your contract. All that footage is mine.”

  “Yeah. See you around Steve.” Mike turned and walked away, leaving Steve standing there alone.

  He passed a few more people who said hello, and he thought about what Steve had said. Suddenly it hit him. His dislike for Steve Logan was blinding him. This new movie wasn’t a bad thing after all. Only the biggest stars had ‘Best of’ compilations, and they were always tops. This would be the first time a total bottom had a ‘Best of.’ It could make Billy Knight more marketable. He hadn’t shot a new video since Between a Cock and a Hard Place, which was almost four months ago even though it was just now being released. The studios knew Mike was demanding bigger money now, and nobody wanted him. This could change that. In the meantime, there were other ways to pay the rent.

  Mike had progressed from stripping into the upper echelon. He was a private escort, turning all his tricks through an agency – but they weren’t tricks anymore, and they weren’t johns. They were clients. Rutherford Models took all his calls and contacted him on hi
s pager with times and locations. They even sent over a driver to take him to the client. He could turn down a job if he wanted, but the more you did that the less you got work. Going through an agency provided a certain amount of safety. Somebody always knew where you were and who you were with. Rutherford Models was known for screening all their new clients carefully. Of course they took a third of the fee, and you had to tip the driver, but it was worth it.

  He’d tried working independently for a while, but it was too difficult and too dangerous. Independent escorts had to run their own ads in the papers, and consequently they had to deal with all sorts of stupid things, like crank callers who just wanted phone sex, and guys who made appointments but no-showed. There were so many difficult clients out there: the ones who got a strange thrill out of having escorts come to the door just to reject them, the ones who refused to pay afterward or who paid less than agreed or who tried to use bad checks and stolen credit cards, and of course there were the ones who turned into stalkers or became violent.

  Now if Mike ever had a problem with a client he just told the agency and they put the client on their blacklist, which they shared with other agencies. Mike would never have to deal with the guy again, and it would protect other escorts too. But bad clients didn’t happen too often with Rutherford Models. The agency was top of the line, and Billy Knight charged out at $300 an hour. The agency took a third of that, and Mike walked with the rest after he’d tipped the driver. Clients didn’t usually agree to pay that kind of money and then act up.

  Although once upon a time Mike had imagined getting into porn would be a way out of prostitution, the money had become so much better that he couldn’t stop. And the truth was, even with his status he wasn’t really making enough out of porn to completely earn his living. Besides, there were a lot of guys who paid top dollar to have sex with a porn star. Likewise, there were cheap hustlers all over the world who longed to do even just one widely distributed porn film, so they could charge higher rates. The LA escorts who didn’t do porn were charged out at only $150 an hour. In other cities it was just $100. Mike was happy he’d already made it this far, that he could pocket almost $200 for an hour’s work, plus sometimes a tip. Whenever he got sick of it – if he had to have sex with someone who was ugly or disrespectful – he reminded himself that there were worse ways to be making money. He thought of washing dishes back in Luigi’s Tavern. There was no way he could ever work in a restaurant or shop again. Still, he knew there were risks. He remained diligent about safe sex. He got an HIV test every three months, like clockwork, and every three months breathed a sigh of relief.