by Rosie Danan
“Are we watching the same movie here? I feel like you’re getting a much deeper read from Keanu’s potato face than I am.”
“Potato . . . face?”
Josh shrugged. “My mom used to say Keanu’s face looks as blank as a peeled potato.”
Clara grinned into her palm.
“Besides,” Josh said. “This isn’t even the end. What about happily ever after?”
“What about it?” Clara turned off the TV as the end credits began.
“Well, they don’t last. Jack and Annie.”
“Sure, they do.” She straightened the pillows on the couch.
“They don’t. There’s a sequel and Keanu’s not even in it. Sandra Bullock gets with some other cop.”
Walking into the bathroom to brush her teeth, Clara left the door open so she could respond. “I don’t acknowledge that.”
Josh followed her, accepting when she offered him the toothpaste and preparing his own brush. “What do you mean? The sequel exists. It’s not open to debate.”
Clara moved her toothbrush to rest inside her cheek. “If I never watch it, then it never happened.”
“Is that right?”
She nodded around her busy bristles.
“You invent an alternate reality. Figures,” Josh mumbled around his own minty mouthful.
After a full two minutes, Clara rinsed her brush. “Art belongs to the audience, not the artist. I would think you’d know that by now.”
Josh shook his head. “The more I learn about you the less I understand.”
“I’ve always wanted to be an enigma.” Clara smiled over her shoulder as she exited the bathroom.
chapter fourteen
JOSH HAD TO decide whether he wanted to spend the rest of his life resenting people like Clara for their money and their brains and their success, or if he wanted to remove his career from cruise control. A call from Bennie a few days later dialed up the deadline on his decision. Black Hat wasn’t taking no for an answer.
The big dogs had invited him to visit their headquarters to discuss his contract demands in person. They didn’t want to wait almost another year for more Josh Darling content. He decided to gamble. What did he have to lose?
“Now that’s a lot of chrome.” Josh whistled under his breath as he entered the reception area of a nondescript office building in Burbank. He’d heard there was a lot of money in porn. Turned out, it had all ended up here.
He checked in with a receptionist who made him spell his last name twice and checked his ID before ushering him to an uncomfortable metallic chair to wait.
Despite Clara’s idealistic outcry to reform an industry she knew next to nothing about, Josh had no plans to ride in, Indiana Jones style, and call out this corporate fortress. Even if he wanted to, and maybe part of him did, he wasn’t that guy. He didn’t have the same luxury of opportunity that Clara enjoyed. If anything, their heated discussion a few nights ago about the power structure of porn had made him realize that he’d never get anywhere if he didn’t play nice with the people in charge. He had to decide between swimming with the sharks or becoming their chum.
The man he’d come to see today, H. D. Pruitt, could change Josh’s life with a snap of his fingers.
He figured he might as well get a look at the guy.
“Josh Darling?” A short, tan man in a very well-tailored suit carried himself with an air of defiance as he stepped into reception.
Josh recognized H. D. Pruitt from his headshot on the company website. Last night he’d taken a leaf out of Clara’s book, staying up late to do his homework. He’d learned that Pruitt had started building an empire a handful of years before Josh signed his contract. A venture capitalist turned entrepreneur, Pruitt had made a lot of money selling search data before he’d decided to bring his talents to the adult entertainment industry.
His company had gobbled up a bunch of mom-and-pop studios out of the gate, and nowadays you couldn’t swing a dick in porn without hitting something owned or operated by Black Hat. According to his bio, Pruitt “lived for pushing boundaries” and “going beyond what’s polite.”
In Josh’s social circles, the man had a reputation for chasing every depraved fantasy the Internet could think up. Until today, Josh had avoided Pruitt like the plague. He’d never had any interest in playing corporate games. But he couldn’t get that position paper from Toni Granger out of his head. Couldn’t stop hearing Clara’s indignant voice as she recounted the injustice of a system he lived in every day.
Josh tugged down the sleeves of his own navy sports coat. “That’s me.” He followed Pruitt into his corner office.
“You’re a tough man to get hold of.” Pruitt’s chair sat a few extra inches above the one relegated for visitors, so its petite owner could stare down at his guests.
Josh pulled out the cushy leather armchair across from the imposing dark wood desk.
“Believe me, it’s only because I’m wildly irresponsible.” Josh pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “You wouldn’t believe how many of these things I burn through.”
Pruitt steepled his fingers and gave Josh a once-over. “You’re even taller than you look on film.”
Josh hunched down in an effort to take up less space. In his experience, short men tended to resent his height. As if Josh were trying to one-up them simply by existing. “That’s probably because in the movies I’m usually lying down.”
Pruitt didn’t smile.
Tough crowd.
“So, what’s your deal? You’re talented, clearly. Audiences seem to respond to you, but your portfolio of work is decidedly bland. Don’t get me wrong.” Pruitt held up a hand. “You and Naomi Grant kept it spicy for a while, but how many times can you really watch the same couple fuck?”
The question hung in the air, while Josh tried to decide if it was rhetorical.
“I’m hoping you finally decided to grace us with your presence because you’re ready to take your work to the next level? I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, but amateurs are all the rage now. Big-name performers don’t bring in the same numbers they used to. Variety over quality. It’s not good for business. Our shares are down over the last two quarters. The only way we can protect our margins is by going further. Getting creative. Do you consider yourself a man of great ambition?”
“No, sir. I can’t say that I do.”
“Well, you should. Porn is power. Never forget that. We may not get the respect of other industries, but we shape culture and technology in ways they can only dream about. You’ve made a name for yourself. Got a nice, young following. Fresh. That’s what I like to see. How many subscribers do you have on your videos?”
“Uh, I’m not sure.” Josh didn’t keep tabs. Clara had mentioned a number the other day. “About a million?”
Pruitt smiled. “Potential lifetime customers, even if most of them are women. Many of my colleagues don’t agree with me about investing in male talent. Not unless you’re willing to do male-male?” He raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
Josh politely shook his head. He had tried it exactly once, because you didn’t have as much sex as he did and not get a little curious, but he found he strongly preferred women.
“Pity. I’ve gotten a lot of requests for that from both fans and performers. Still. You’re what, almost thirty? You’ve got at least three, maybe even five good years in you if you take care of yourself. Lay off the red meat. Invest in some under-eye cream.”
Josh brought his hand up to feel for bags beneath his eyes. The skin felt relatively tight. Maybe he should ask to borrow some of the fancy lotions his roommate left in the bathroom.
Pruitt chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry. Only the girls can’t age. One of those harsh truths of the business. Older men want to see themselves on screen, but we don’t want to see our wives.”
The CEO turned around a photogra
ph on his desk so that Josh could see a snapshot of a middle-aged brunette with her arms wrapped around two teenage boys. The woman in the photo looked sweet, pretty if a little tired.
“People are quick to demonize porn, but how many marriages have we saved? Porn keeps men from cheating when their wives no longer do the trick. It’s our duty to provide ever-evolving fodder for the sexual imagination. To take audiences places they’ll never go in real life.”
Josh dug his fingernails into his palms. He couldn’t believe this man could talk about his wife and the mother of his children this way, let alone to a complete stranger. When he answered he couldn’t quite keep the edge out of his tone. “I’m not so sure I’m ready to let the most extreme audiences dictate the direction of my career.”
The older man straightened his tie and sat even higher in his thronelike chair. “I’m going to level with you, Josh. Man to man. You got lucky. You rode the wave of your girlfriend’s hot ass to a modicum of notoriety, but there is no such thing as happily ever after in this industry. Without Naomi Grant, you’re gonna fade fast.”
Josh slammed his back molars together with enough force to make his jaw ache.
Pruitt picked up a glass paperweight from his desk and juggled it. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll start you slow if you want. Real gentle. I’ll even let you work with other studios as long as you give my hardcore division fifty titles a year and exclusive appearance rights.”
It was a better offer than Bennie had ever brought him, almost generous. Josh’s throat clenched. He hated himself a little for the next words out of his mouth. “How much?”
Pruitt brought his hand up to cover his mouth for a moment before lowering it. “What did you make last year?”
Through the haze of his simmering rage, Josh took last year’s income and doubled it before writing it on a piece of paper from a pad in front of him. He slid it across the desk to Pruitt.
The executive picked it up and read it, giving a little laugh. “I’ll start you at twice that amount.”
Josh tried to wrap his head around that kind of money. A paycheck like that would validate his career.
“Welcome to the big leagues.” The most powerful man in porn sat back and folded his hands across his chest. Pruitt was convinced he’d gotten his way, and maybe he would have if Josh hadn’t thought of Clara’s face at that exact moment.
If he hadn’t pulled up her profile in the driver’s seat of his car at sunset after a whole day of facing her fears. The shadows of a dying sun across her face made her look like a 1940s movie star. Biting her lip. Determined to do what she thought she must. No matter how much it scared her. He wished his brain hadn’t replayed the catch in her voice when she’d protested the mistreatment of people she’d never met by the man sitting across from him. He could no longer claim ignorance. If he took this money, Clara would always know he’d done it because he was weak.
“I’m sorry.” He placed the paper back on the desk. “I can’t accept.” Once his contract expired he could find work with other, smaller studios. Maybe he’d never be rich, but at least he could go to sleep at night without worrying about his work putting money in the pockets of men like this guy. He could look Clara in the eye over breakfast tomorrow. He’d never be good enough for a woman like her, but at least he wouldn’t fail this basic moral test.
“Are you sure about that? I feel I’ve been very generous, Josh.” Pruitt’s eyes had gone hard and cold.
Josh ran his hands down his itchy dress pants. He wanted desperately to get out of this room, this building. “I appreciate your time, but I think I’ll try my hand at some other ventures when my contract ends.”
Pruitt sat up straighter in his chair. “I’m not sure that would be a wise choice, son.”
“What are you implying?” Josh had a sneaking suspicion he knew.
“If you choose to walk away from this company and our very generous offer, you might find it difficult to find other people in this business who are prepared to work with you. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, thanks. Think I’ve managed to crack your code.” Josh stood up, letting his height send a final message.
Pruitt rose to his feet quickly. “Why don’t you take a few days to think about it?” He straightened his lapels. “Decisions like this shouldn’t be made in the heat of the moment. Weigh your options. Check your bank balance.” Pulling a business card out of his wallet, he flipped it to Josh, who caught the tiny rectangle against his chest.
There goes my career, Josh thought as he tossed the paper into the first trash can he found in the parking lot.
chapter fifteen
WHEN SHE CAME home to find Josh in a terrible mood, Clara immediately suggested they open a bottle of wine and watch Die Hard. She’d never seen her new roommate frown so much. His face seemed to resent the expression. She wanted to ask what had happened while she spent the day at her aunt’s firm, but at the same time, she didn’t want to pry.
Clara had a funny feeling action movies were becoming a bridge between her and Josh. A mutual appreciation that gave them something to talk about, or at the very least allowed them to both occupy the living room with minimal awkwardness.
“Hey. Would you want to go to a Rocky marathon in Silver Lake with me at the beginning of August?” She took a casual sip of her Cab. “I saw a poster at this coffee shop near work and I love Rocky and obviously I can just go alone unless you think you might—”
“You can stop rambling.” Josh patted her foot where it rested near his thigh on the couch. “I’d like to go with you. I’ve never seen Rocky.”
“Oh. Good. Well, I’ll get the tickets then. To pay you back for all the driving lessons.”
Clara exhaled. It’s not a date. Of course it’s not a date. I don’t need to clarify because there’s no way he’d ever consider it a date. They might not have much in common, but at the very minimum, they both appreciated a movie where the lead actor sweated profusely.
Unfortunately, her brilliant plan to turn around Josh’s surliness met an almost immediate obstacle. John McClane had barely arrived at Nakatomi Plaza when the power in the house cut out like a blink held too long. For a few seconds, neither Josh nor Clara said anything. Nobody moved.
“Do you have a flashlight?” She spoke toward the end of the sofa where Josh had been sitting before the world plunged into darkness.
“If one of us had a flashlight, it would be you.”
“Right.” Clara fumbled for her phone on the side table. “I suppose we can make do with these.”
Josh followed suit. “I’ll go check the breaker.”
Clara opened the drapes and peered down the street. “Don’t bother. The whole block is out.” A summer storm raged across the sky in a rare bout of L.A. weather, making Clara jump.
She navigated her way to the bookshelf where she kept a few scented candles. “I’ll light these, I guess.”
“Great. Now the entire house is gonna smell like the inside of a pumpkin pie,” he teased before helping her arrange the candles around the living room so that the space took on a cozy glow. The claps of lightning and booms of thunder mingled to form a malevolent orchestra.
“Wow. This is kind of ro—”
“Spooky.” Clara finished Josh’s sentence on the off chance he’d been about to voice the same forbidden word she’d thought watching the candlelight dance across his features.
“Right, yes.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “That’s exactly what I was going to say. Hey, the stove still works during a blackout, right?”
“Yeah. It’s gas so you should be able to light it with a match. Here.” She grabbed the box where she’d abandoned it on the coffee table and offered it to him.
His fingers brushed the tender skin on the inside of her wrist and she gulped. No matter how hard she tried, she didn’t seem to be able to avoid touching him, and every time t
hey touched, a feverish wanting threatened to consume her.
“Cool. Thanks.” Josh’s voice came out lower than normal. “I’m gonna make popcorn.” He hurried into the kitchen.
Clara took a moment to collect herself. He’s not being sexy on purpose. Stop fetishizing him.
She took advantage of the fact that Josh had left the room and tugged at the underwire of her bra where it dug into her rib cage. Clara wasn’t one of those women with a manageable bust size where you could hardly tell if they went au naturel. You could definitely tell. So she kept everything locked down instead of flinging off her unwieldy undergarments the moment she got home from work the way she longed to and certainly would have if she lived alone. She didn’t need Josh’s pupils growing dark and urgent again the way they had when he’d walked in on her in nothing but her stupid, reckless nightgown.
“Ta-da.” He returned from the kitchen a while later with a giant bowl of popcorn, held out for her inspection.
She only had to inhale to know he’d loaded up the stove-top-popped kernels with a pound of Parmesan, red pepper flakes, and olive oil. He considered this a “healthy snack” and she didn’t have the heart to correct him.
They settled back into their designated seats on the sofa, Clara on the left, Josh on the right, with the middle cushion as a buffer. Rigid respect for the buffer usually lasted for about half an hour. They each tended to unfurl their bodies as they got comfortable.
When Josh tried to inconspicuously wipe his hands on the back of the throw pillow, she unthinkingly grabbed his forearm. Normally she wouldn’t touch anyone without an explicit invitation, but Josh didn’t seem to live by normal rules of personal space, and so sometimes she forgot too. For a moment, she imagined leaning forward and running her tongue across his palm. Imagined slipping his index finger into her mouth and savoring the way butter and salt seasoned his skin. Her face overheated. Stop acting like a pervert. She marched into the kitchen for paper towels.
