by Jason Luke
“Sit down,” John Bellamy said. “I ain’t got time for your wise-ass comments.”
I sat. A waiter glided across to my side and I ordered a drink.
Bellamy stared over the table at me, studying me with dark shrewd eyes. “You look good,” he said at last.
I smiled. “You too,” I lied. “It’s been a long time.”
The man nodded sagely. “Almost nine years.”
I sat back in the chair and glanced around the room. The restaurant hadn’t changed, and neither had many of the faces. I recognized some of the other diners – shadowy dark men hunched over their tables in earnest, secretive conversations.
I felt Bellamy’s eyes on me.
“So, how you doin’ kid?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I’m getting by,” I said. “The film distribution deal is working out, and everything is fine back home.”
Bellamy grunted. He was one of the porn industry heavy-weights – a man who could make or break a newcomer’s career with a phone call. He was also my mentor. When I had decided to take the step from porn actor into the high-finance world of film producer, Bellamy had stood by me, discreetly in the shadows, and guided me through some stormy seas during those first few years.
I owed him.
I knew it.
So did Bellamy.
“You happy?”
I nodded. “Sure.”
Bellamy looked hard at me, like he was trying to read my eyes, and asked his next question with elaborate caution. “You makin’ a buck?”
I nodded. “A couple,” I said.
Bellamy smiled – a knowing grin of understanding as he nodded his head heavily. “You’re lucky,” he said, and his expression became bleak and grey. “It’s gettin’ harder every day in this fuckin’ business. Too many small fish,” his voice became a bitter growl of protest. “They’re screwin’ up all kinds of things.”
I frowned. “Small fish?”
Bellamy nodded. He was drinking neat whiskey. He drained his glass and then waved it in the air to attract a waiter’s attention for a re-fill. “Fuckin’ little production houses,” Bellamy went on with a sigh. “They’re cutting margins – producin’ all this fuckin’ reality shit.”
I sat forward, lowered my voice. “You hurting, John?”
The big man looked up into my eyes. He nodded, and his voice dropped to a pained whisper. “Yeah,” he admitted. “And I’m sick, Ricky.”
“Sick? What kind of sick?”
Bellamy made a face, and scratched at the side of his hooked Roman nose. “The bad kind,” he said, his voice a rusty croak. “The kind of sick I ain’t gonna ever get better from.”
I sat back in shock and for long moments we said nothing. The waiter came and poured more whiskey into Bellamy’s glass. The conversations around us rose and fell in whispered undulations.
“Shit.” I said at last.
Bellamy nodded. “Shit is right,” he sighed, and then suddenly seemed to rouse himself, climb out of the dark hole of despair he was descending into. His eyes caught a spark of their old cunning glitter and a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “But it ain’t all bad,” he said. He sat up straight, arched his back and pushed back his shoulders, like a peacock preening itself. “I got myself a new girl.”
“Really? I didn’t know you had ended things with the old one.”
“I haven’t!” Bellamy suddenly laughed, and the spontaneous unaffected sound was like a loud bull-roar in the oppressive silence. It seemed to shake the walls, and heads turned, stared, then turned away again. Bellamy dabbed at his eyes with a paper napkin, then mopped away an unhealthy sheen of perspiration that had spread across his brow.
“She’s nineteen,” Bellamy shook his head in wonder. “She did a scene in one of my films. Man, what that girl can do with her mouth is fuckin’ amazing!”
I smiled. “Congratulations,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say. “Have you been seeing her long?”
Bellamy shrugged and then leered at me meaningfully. “Long enough to know every inch of her tight teeny body, but not long enough to remember her name.”
It was the sort of thing I expected from John. The porn industry was a superficial world: the relationships were temporary, the sex faked. It was a world where pretty young girls were the kind of accessories that every successful business man had – more impressive than a flashy car or an expensive suit. A pretty young thing on the arm of an old man was a sign of prowess and power… and those two ingredients were the cogs that drove the industry.
The waiter came to the edge of the table and stood silent and discreet until Bellamy acknowledged him.
“Can I take your orders?”
“Fuck off,” Bellamy said with a flash of charming smile. “We ain’t ready.”
The waiter turned a shade of grey and disappeared like a magician’s assistant in a vanishing act.
Bellamy propped his elbows on the edge of the table and leaned close, his manner becoming suddenly grave and serious. He frowned and thrust his face close as though trying to study my expression in the gloomy light of the restaurant.
“I’m sellin’, Ricky,” he said at last. “I’m sellin’ the whole organization – lock, stock and blonde, and I’m gettin’ out.”
I threw back my head with shock. “Out of the industry?”
Bellamy nodded. “And the fuckin’ country. I’m movin’ to Australia.”
“Fuck…” I said in soft voice of disbelief.
Bellamy nodded again. “It’s a young man’s game now. All this fuckin’ internet stuff,” he shook his head, full of sorrow and worn down by his sickness. “It’s time I got out and went somewhere sunny to die.” He paused for a meaningful breath. “I’m sellin’ to the Scarletti brothers… but I want you to do me a favor.”
I fell back in the chair, stunned, reeling. I shook my head. “John, I can’t believe you’re getting out of the game.”
“Believe it,” he said. “The deal is done. There is just a loose end to tie up.”
“Loose end?”
He nodded. “Like I said. I need a favor.”
I had a sudden sense of wary suspicion. “I’ll do what I can to help,” I said, and then added with ill-concealed anxiety, “if I can afford it…”
He smiled, and then his expression faded to a rueful grin. “It’s affordable.”
“But – ”
Bellamy held up his hand to stifle my protest. “Do I need to remind you that you owe me?” His mouth tightened.
“No, John. I know I owe you.”
Bellamy pretended not to hear. He went on doggedly. “You fuckin’ owe me for takin’ you under my wing,” he thrust a huge finger at me in accusation. “And you owe me for helpin’ you get established, and gettin’ a distribution deal, right?”
I nodded. “Right,” I said.
“Then you help me out – with the blonde.”
“The blonde?”
Bellamy nodded. “She wants to make it big in the industry. I told her you would use her in your next film.”
I looked incredulous. “The new girl?”
He nodded. “She’s one of them submissive types,” he said in an off-hand manner, his voice dropping confidentially. “She’ll suck and fuck whenever you want.”
“John… I don’t need another actress. And besides, you know I don’t work with new girls. I only work with professionals.”
He shrugged like he didn’t care. “She’s the favor. You fuck her, you film her, you put her on the cover of the DVD. It’s what you owe me, boy.”
I sighed. I glanced over my shoulder towards the exit, subconsciously looking for an escape.
Bellamy grunted, like he could read my mind. “How long are you in town for?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “A few more days.”
“Are you filming while you’re here?”
“Yeah,” I said. “No point wasting the location. I’ve got some girls booked for tomorrow and Friday.”
/> Bellamy looked pleased. “So that solves our problem,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’ll send this girl to you tomorrow. All you have to do is include her in one of your scenes.”
I nodded. “Yeah, sure.” I conceded unhappily. But Bellamy’s hand shot out across the table, his grip surprisingly strong, the subtle warning in his tone unmistakable, though veiled. “Just make sure you fuck her, Ricky,” he reminded me. “Not one of the hired cocks. I promised the girl that the one-and-only Rick Cassidy would do her. It’s important if she’s to get a name for herself. She’s got to fuck some real talent if she’s going to be taken seriously.”
I was still shaking my head. I felt the floor beneath me beginning to sway and teeter.
I felt trapped.
I felt obliged.
I nodded my head. “Done,” I said heavily.
Bellamy ordered another drink, and seemed to sink wearily back into his seat. At the same moment, Connie drifted into the restaurant. She wore a figure-hugging dress in bright oriental patterns that wrapped around her body tight as a second-skin. Her hair was brushed out, rippling and undulating like a black wave over her shoulders. She stood, uncertainly, for a moment, and then caught sight of me. Her face lit up with a flash of relief.
John Bellamy saw her at the same instant. He heaved himself upright in his chair, eyebrows arched with interest, and nodded meaningfully at me.
“Now that’s something every man could enjoy fucking,” he said, nodding his head, appreciation in his eyes. “She looks like the kind of ride that would give a man a great deal of pleasure.”
I smiled wryly, but said nothing. I didn’t need to. Connie crossed the restaurant and came over to our table. She grinned at me, then nodded politely to the big man sitting opposite. “Sorry, I’m late,” her voice was breathless. “I had trouble locking your house up after you left me.”
Admiring heads turned in my direction, and John Bellamy knocked over his drink.
Chapter 7.
It was eleven o’clock the next morning when Connie appeared at the front door, and by that time the house had filled with people. I had my makeup artist and two cameramen outside by the pool, and sprinkled throughout various parts of the house were four women and a couple of guys – all of them actors I had called in for a day of filming.
“Good morning,” I held the door open wide.
Connie nodded. She was wearing blue jeans and a white open-neck shirt, the top button left undone so that as I glanced at her I could see the tight cleft of soft cleavage flesh that pressed against the fabric of her shirt.
“Did you enjoy dinner last night?”
Connie stepped into the foyer, glanced around the house, maybe sensing the buzz of activity. She nodded, her expression distracted with curiosity.
“Yes, thank you,” she smiled. “Your Mr. Bellamy friend is certainly a character.”
I smiled again. “John is a sleaze,” I said matter-of-factly, “but he’s also a straight-up guy, and he’s well known within the industry. He has been a valuable ally for me since I came into the industry.”
Connie tilted her head in a question. “Ally? Not friend?”
“Ally,” I said. “I don’t have friends – not in this industry anyhow. It’s a tough business and I believe in the story of the barking dog.”
Connie slipped the strap of the handbag off her shoulder and tossed it onto the sofa. “The story of the barking dog?”
I nodded. “It’s a bit of an industry parable,” I said.
“Tell me,” she invited.
I closed the door and led Connie through the living room. It was a bright clear morning and warm sun through the big windows cut elongated wedges of sunlight across the carpet.
“There was this dog, and every morning when its owner fed it, the dog would bark its head off with excitement,” I began. “Well it didn’t take long for all the other dogs in the street to realize that whenever the dog barked it meant there was food in its bowl. So all the other dogs started jumping the fence each morning as soon as the dog began barking, and ultimately the dog starved to death because all the other dogs ate its food.”
Connie stopped in the middle of the floor and stared at me. “That’s the barking dog story?”
I nodded. “That’s it.”
She shook her head and then said slowly, “I don’t get it.”
I smiled. “The message behind the barking dog story is one for everyone who owns a business,” I explained. “The point is that if you boast about how well you are doing everyone else is going to want what you have – just like the barking dog. So you keep your cards close to your chest, and you keep your mouth shut – and you don’t make friends.”
We stepped out through the sliding glass doors and I introduced Connie to my two cameramen and the lady who did makeup for the actresses. “They’re all good people,” I told Connie as we headed back inside. “Jilian, my makeup lady, has been with me for six years, and the two cameramen have been with me almost as long.”
Connie had a bewildered look on her face. “Why are they here?”
“Didn’t I tell you?”
“No.”
I shrugged eloquently. “I’m filming today,” I said. “I have six actors here getting ready in the bedrooms, and I’m planning to film a scene this morning and another one in the afternoon.”
“Here?” Connie sounded shocked.
“Sure.”
Connie shook her head. “But… but… you’re going to film people having sex outside by the swimming pool?”
I shrugged my shoulders again. “Why not? It’s a fantastic location, the weather is perfect for shooting, and we’re high in the hills – it’s not like I’m filming in a shopping mall.”
“But… it’s still out in the open.”
“It’s a great location,” I said again. “And it’s an opportunity to make a start on my new film before heading back to Europe at the end of the week.”
A bedroom door opened at the end of the hallway and a young woman appeared. She had the bleary-eyed expression of someone who had slept fitfully. She glided barefoot into the living room. She was blonde, tall and tanned. Her hair was tousled, and she was naked. She scraped her fingers absently through her hair, and the movement of her arm changed the weight and shape of her breasts. She waved to me and smiled as she drifted passed.
“Good morning, Kate,” I said. “Are the other girls awake yet? I want to start filming in an hour.”
The pretty blonde shook her head, then disappeared through another door, closing it quietly behind her.
Connie raised an enquiring eyebrow. “How many other girls are in bed?” she asked acidly.
“Three more,” I said.
Connie looked shocked. Her face became pinched and disapproving. “You shared a bed with four women last night? Had sex with them all?”
“No,” I said. “Those four girls are actresses. They flew in last night and slept here – in their own beds and in their own room. They are here to perform in my film today.”
“Oh,” Connie said softly, admonished. Her eyes flicked away from my face guiltily. “I…I thought…”
“I know exactly what you thought,” I said.
I left Connie standing there for a moment and went to the door Kate had appeared from. I knocked twice, and then stepped inside the room.
There were three young women in bed. Two dark haired girls were curled up together, and in a second bed a young red-headed woman lay on her back, naked, the bed sheets tangled around her feet. She had one arm thrown casually across her breasts, and her legs were splayed apart as she slept. I went to the bed and shook the girl’s shoulder gently.
“Maxine,” I said softly. “It’s time to wake up. We are filming in an hour.”
The girl’s eyes fluttered open like beating butterflies wings, and there was a sleepy drowsy purr in the back of her throat as her vision swam into focus.
She smiled up into my face. “Good morning, Ricky.”
“Mo
rning,” I said. “You need to get out of bed, honey. I need you on set as quick as possible,” and then I added as an afterthought, “Wake up Kelly and Hannah.”
When I came out from the bedroom, Connie was standing in the kitchen talking to two bare chested men. They had their hands thrust into the pockets of their jeans and were standing barefooted on the cold floor.
They were both good-looking men.
“I see you have met Roland and Victor,” I said casually.
Connie looked up at me, slightly startled, slightly breathless, as if only just realizing I was now standing beside her.
“Not officially,” she said.
I grinned and then went through the pantomime of formal introductions. “Roland and Victor – this is Connie. She is a journalist from ‘Infinity’ magazine who is following me around for the next few days to write an article about me. Connie – this is Roland and Victor,” the two young men held out their hands and flashed charming smiles. “They are porn actors. I’ve worked with them both before. They’re good guys.”
Connie blushed demurely and shook hands all around. There was a moment of awkward silence and then the two men drifted out through the sliding glass doors into the sunshine.
“Fascinating people,” Connie said with the kind of stiff politeness that let me know she didn’t mean it.
I smiled. “It’s a fascinating industry, Connie.” I meant it.
Connie followed the broad backs of the two actors with her eyes and then glanced back to me with a nod. “Are they good at their job?”
I inclined my head. “They can get hard on cue and hold an erection long enough to finish a scene,” I said simply. “And they have good sized cocks. That’s all I ask for.”
Connie looked bemused. “Right. Right!” she said in a distracted way as if she had already forgotten the thread of the question. She fingered the top button of her blouse absent-mindedly.
Freud would have something to say about that.
“What about physical appearance?” she asked. She leaned her hip against the kitchen counter. Her expression became a frown of concentration. “I mean porn films are filled with gorgeous buxom lithe young girls… doesn’t the physical appearance of a male porn actor matter just as much?”
