Luke and Emily exchanged glances. They’d pretty much worked all this out for themselves but they sure weren’t going to interrupt Vito’s lecture.
‘I’ve been thinking for some time, thirty per cent of our potential market isn’t being serviced. I wondered how we could combine good raw sex with romance and make it work for both male and female audiences. You’d think it’d be easy, but no one has done it before. You know why?’
All three shook their heads.
‘One, most porn isn’t written by writers. It’s made up as it’s shot. Two, in the main, porn stars can’t act. They can’t even deliver dialogue, and I don’t mean just when their mouths are full of cock.’
Emily grinned to show that she wasn’t offended by his language. If they were going to do business, in this business, cocks and pussies were merchandise that would be discussed.
‘Somehow,’ he said, ‘you’ve managed to create at least token plots, and you’ve added the emotional content that women viewers will go ape over, I guarantee it. If you can keep this quality up, I’ll buy all you can make.’ He pulled a pad over and wrote on it before pushing it to Emily. ‘How does this grab you?’
When she read the number on the pad, she coughed to cover up her gasp. ‘I think we can work with that, Mr Manero.’
‘Call me Vito.’
‘Vito, then.’
‘Great. Listen, your cast – the kids look clean, are clean. Make sure they stay that way.’
‘Yes, sir. Everyone will continue to be tested once a month.’
Vito nodded. ‘And no messy stuff, know what I mean? I sell legal porn, for entertainment purposes. You want to make the big bucks, skirt the law, take your chances – don’t bring that crap to me.’
‘I feel exactly the same way.’ Emily leaned forwards and pounded his desk with her fist for emphasis. ‘NAIL wants our product to be as much fun for the talent to make as it is for the viewer to watch.’
‘So.’ Vito extended his hand. ‘Welcome to the porn industry.’
Emily grasped his hand. ‘Thank you, Vito.’
They shook on it.
Tony and Luke exchanged excited looks but stayed in their seats. It was Emily who, overcome with delight, wriggled to her feet. ‘We’ve got so much more to show you.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ Vito drawled, shaking his head. ‘But I’ve seen enough for now. Leave the rest of them with Melody. I’ll be in touch.’
On the bus ride home, Tony couldn’t stop yammering about how Emily had played his uncle ‘like a pro’.
She preferred to think he meant professional film-maker and didn’t ask for a definition.
Luke stared out the window.
Emily, using her briefcase balanced on her knees as a desk, a contract and a calculator on top, kept tapping keys and staring at the figures.
‘A good day’s work,’ she said. She’d already said it a couple of times but she didn’t know what else to say or do. So she just kept calculating and recalculating the deal they’d struck with Manero Triple X. If nothing went wrong, it could be that all their troubles were solved.
When the bus stopped at the University, Luke and Tony stood. Emily would ride as far as Bailey’s, where her uniform and a long evening shift awaited.
Luke’s lips brushed hers. He and Tony were going to her place, where another NAIL shoot would take place. He took her briefcase.
‘You look tired, baby,’ she whispered.
‘You too,’ he said.
With that, he was gone.
Chapter Eleven
Bailey’s was, as usual on a Friday night, packed.
Emily hadn’t had time to prepare two outfits for Friday so her uniform wasn’t as crisp and clean as it should be, but at least she had a fresh apron to cover the front of her black pants and tight white cotton shirt. Hopefully, Rhonda was managing and the owner was somewhere, anywhere, else. But it seemed all her luck for the day had been used up in Manero’s office. As soon as she hit the floor she saw him, Mr Bailey Senior, no less, bending to share in the ‘tasting of the wine’ with a rich young starlet Emily had gone to high school with and her companion, an equally young crooner who’d just gone platinum. Their laughter mingled with the melody that rippled from the strings of a harp, plucked by the long, nimble fingers of a beautiful harpist in a black Yves Saint Laurent gown.
Real movie stars. Real artists. Real executives. For the first time in many years, she was nervous about serving the clientele. She didn’t feel like the best waitress in town any more, nor did she glow with the inner knowledge that someday those stars would be sitting at her table while she held court. She felt, like her uniform, a little bit soiled.
Mr Bailey watched her like a hawk all night. In truth, her performance had been in a steady decline all summer. Attaining the Saturday night shift had been a triumph that heralded the beginning of the end. She knew it, every time a champagne cork flew across the room or a plate of appetisers slipped from her fingers to shatter on the ceramic tile. In some restaurants everyone cheered when a poor staffer dropped a plate, but not here. Movie stars and their people met here for a quiet meal. They didn’t want to be looked at, bothered for autographs, or annoyed by crashing plates and an apologetic waitress, no matter how pretty that waitress might be. Yes, she knew it when it happened but she forgot it again as soon as she dragged herself out the door at the end of the night.
She could only hope a few of her regulars would pop in, greet her by name and ask to be seated at her table. Where the hell was that Lothario Jack with his unmistakable grin and gravelly voice when she really needed him?
Her shift was drawing to a close when a fading starlet with skin so tight it looked shrink-wrapped arrived with her entourage. Emily approached the table. She could feel the old lady’s irritation with her youth as soon as she got close enough to smell the bitch’s perfume.
Emily’s nostrils twitched. How could anyone make Chanel No 5 stink? Did she fucking bathe in it?
‘What do I get with the special?’ The question came before Emily could open her mouth.
‘With the special, you get your choice of soup or salad.’
‘And what do I get with the lamb?’
‘It comes with tiny new potatoes with a butter and basil roux –’
‘I don’t like basil,’ hissed the woman, as if Emily had insulted her. ‘What do I get with the sea bass?’
Emily sneezed. ‘Excuse me please, miss.’
The woman’s eyes widened as much as possible, given the way they’d been stretched back to her ears. ‘I should think so! Now what do I get with the baked chicken?’
‘Look, you get your food, you get your bill and you get out, OK?’
Not surprisingly, it was not the faded star but Emily who got out, never to be welcomed back.
***
Emily approached the walk-up where she lived. She hadn’t really stopped laughing since the moment she’d uttered the sentence that spelled the end of her job at Bailey’s. She knew she should be desolate but every time she pictured the look on the face of the old boot as she’d tried and failed to shriek (something Emily dimly recalled she’d once been quite famous for) Em had been giggling like the dumb blonde who came to Hollywood and screwed the writer to get ahead. She couldn’t wait to tell Luke.
Before she started up the stairs, she was stopped by the superintendent, the usually amiable Mr Foo. His brows were knit in an angry scowl. His small frame shook with fury.
‘You!’
‘Why hello, Mr Foo. How are you?’ Emily turned at the foot of the stairs.
‘Not happy.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Emily started up the stairs, her platform peep toes slowing her attempt at a speedy ascent. ‘I had a long night so if you’ll excuse me I’ll be on my way. Goodnight.’
He followed. ‘You used to be good girl,’ he said.
Emily kept climbing, though her spirits sank with every word he spoke.
‘No good no more. Bad girl!’
&n
bsp; ‘I pay my rent on time, I never have parties –’
‘Somebody have big party when you are not home.’
Em paused at her door to unlock it. She could only hope for the best as she swung it open. Their problems were solved, provided nothing went wrong. She should never have had that fate-provoking thought.
It looked like a shot from Caligula. Bodies were scattered across her couch and living-room floor, some scantily clad, and Marion (it would be Marion, wouldn’t it!) completely naked. Beer bottles and empty pizza cartons littered the table. The camera and the clapboard with Fuck Me Sweet and Wet chalked on it (was it even slightly possible that Mr Foo couldn’t read English?) provided ample proof of what was going on.
‘See,’ said Emily sweetly, ‘no party!’
When she finally closed the door to Mr Foo, she held an eviction notice in her hand. Emily trod carefully, doing her best to avoid stepping on body parts, no matter how much she wanted to. She found Jillian curled up behind the sofa, cuddling a half-full beer the way a child might cuddle a stuffed toy. Emily toed her production secretary, none-too-gently.
‘What?’ mumbled the girl. She batted ineffectually at Emily’s foot.
‘Did you get it in the can?’
‘What?’
‘Fuck Me Sweet and Wet. Jillian! Did you get the fucking movie in the can?’
‘Yeah …’ Jillian rolled over to face the wall, spilling the last of the beer in the process.
You can thank your lucky stars for that, bitch.
Emily approached the bedroom. She opened the door slowly, afraid of what she might find. Luke was not in the living room, which meant he was either not in the apartment at all, waiting for her in her bed or …
There were two bodies on the bed. Em’s eyes blurred with tears. Goddam it. She swiped at her eyes with an impatient hand. Luke was half under the covers. With him, on top of the covers, dirty bare feet on the pillow beside Luke’s head, face practically pressed against Luke’s protruding feet, lay Paul.
Emily’s giggles returned. For a moment she considered sliding in between the two boys-with-big-dicks but decided against it. Instead, she quickly changed into a T-shirt, jeans and sneakers, grabbed her face cream from the nightstand, and left Luke and Paul to their slumber.
The eviction noticed was posted to the inside of the front door, accompanied by a note written in black felt pen:
Anybody who leaves before this place is spotless is fired.
- Emily Forrester, Executive Producer, NAIL Productions Ltd.
Emily locked the apartment door behind her and took the back stairs out. She was experiencing a strong sense of forgiveness, of reconciliation, of love, even, for the only mother she’d ever known. Bobby, Mommy, I’m home!
Chapter Twelve
The Muggery rocked and The Muggery rolled. It was Saturday night and the place was packed. Luke winced at the noise, sipped his ginger ale and thanked God for the day-old pretzels. The hangover he’d woken with was passing. He could only hope that, in time, the mortification he felt at having spent the night in bed with Paul would pass as well.
Marion dragged a chair over and wedged it between him and whoever he was sitting beside. She was as peppy as ever.
‘Hey, Skywalker.’
‘Go away. I hate you.’
‘Because I can drink like a sailor and never get a hangover?’ She gulped from her mug of draught, lowered it and sighed with exaggerated contentment.
‘Yes. Leave me alone.’
‘No can do. Boss Lady says we’re to meet her here at zero eight hundred. Or is that zero eighteen hundred? Midnight is twenty-four, right? So eight p.m. is –’
‘Please …’ Luke shoved the pretzels aside to make room for his elbows. He sunk his face into his palms. ‘I think I might be dying.’
‘Well, at least you’ll die happy. You know, because you got to experience the love-that-dare-not-speak-its-name.’ This last line was delivered in a teasing whisper.
‘Bitch.’
‘I hear his dick is a monster. Is it true? I already know yours is.’
‘Don’t tell me there’s actually someone on campus you haven’t fucked?’
‘He’s on my no-fly zone. Check the list.’ Marion cast a snooty glance at Paul, seated as far from Luke as possible, looking even more miserable than his bedmate of the night before. ‘You know, guys in Europe sleep together all the time. It’s really no big deal.’
‘I’m going to get better, just long enough to kill you. And then I’m going to go lie on the beach until I die.’
‘Nasty.’ Marion drained her mug. ‘Oh barkeep!’ She swung her index finger, including all the people at the Movie Mob’s table. ‘A round on me.’ She giggled. Since there were only a handful of students at the table and less than half drinking beer, the round would be a cheap one. ‘Look alive, Lucas. Here comes the E.P. her own self.’
Luke kept his face in his hands. ‘How does she look?’
‘She’s smiling.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘Nope.’
Luke dared to hope. He rubbed his face and lifted it from his hands. Emily squeezed and wriggled her way straight across the dance floor. She looked … clean. Fresh. Prettier, far prettier, than any star: porn, film, North. He grinned.
She grinned back.
He framed her face with his fingers, as he’d done when he’d sat in the café where she’d worked, waiting for her to love him. He couldn’t sit still. Luke slid back his chair and squirmed onto the dance floor to meet her.
His arms opened and Emily stepped into his embrace. They swayed, neither dancing nor standing, just holding on tight.
‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured.
‘Shh.’ Emily put her finger to his lips. ‘Bailey’s fired me,’ she said. She licked his neck and he felt giggles ripple from her belly, up between her breasts and out of her mouth, tickling his secret hot spot.
‘Why?’
‘I can’t say, because if I do I won’t be able to stop giggling and I don’t want to giggle. I want to kiss,’ she replied.
‘And you’re evicted.’
‘Yeah. Plus I caught my boyfriend in bed with another man.’
She was giggling so hard he had to hold her tighter to keep her from doubling over.
‘Emily are you – drunk? Or on something?’
She licked the rim of his ear. Her words were a whisper. ‘I’m in something, Luke. I’m in love.’
Luke picked her right up off the ground and kissed her till his knees buckled.
Emily slid down his body until her feet touched the dance floor again. She pressed her belly hard against his erection.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Luke said. ‘I’ve got a surprise for you at our place.’
‘Not yet, baby,’ she replied. She took a half-step back and waited for his erection to subside before dragging him by the hand to their table. ‘I have news for NAILs!’
Luke jerked his head at Marion and she vacated her chair so Emily could sit beside her man.
‘Brewski? It’s on Marion,’ piped up Jillian. She giggled when Marion rolled her eyes.
Emily shrugged. ‘Why not?’ She took the proffered mug and slugged back a healthy mouthful. ‘Tastes good. Although I have to say, I’m not nuts about the stink it leaves behind – you know, when it’s spilled all over everything.’ She glared from face to face until each of the NAIL cast and crew members’ faces burned bright red.
‘As you know, I’ve been evicted. I stopped by the place on my way here. For a bunch of drunks, you did a good job cleaning up. Foo is considering giving me some of my damage deposit back.’
‘We got the picture in the can,’ piped up Jillian.
‘Yeah, so you said last night.’
Jillian’s face told the story – she had no memory of speaking to Emily the previous evening. ‘Um … right.’
Emily caught Paul’s eye. The black man rubbed his bald pate. ‘Sleep well?’ she asked.
‘Not
too bad, actually, until I dreamed I was drowning and woke up to find a couple of hairy toes up my nose.’
‘Did you wiggle your big toe?’ Richard asked Luke, quoting The Bride from Kill Bill.
At that, the entire table, including Emily, burst into laughter.
Luke exchanged rueful glances with Paul. It was going to take a long time for them to live down the way they’d landed when the combination of exhaustion and beer had knocked them flat out on the same goddam bed. All he could do was shake his head.
Emily said, ‘I got good news, good news and good news.’
She filled everyone in on the meeting between Naked And In Love Productions Limited and Manero Triple X Adult Film Distribution.
They cheered.
Tony said, ‘Emily played poor Uncle Vito like a violin, man.’
‘Like a Stradivarius,’ said Emily. ‘He’s a real gentleman.’
Luke said, ‘Whatever. The man did not know what hit him.’
Em grinned and nodded her head to scattered applause. ‘We’re launched. August first is days away. That’s when the rest of the Mob should arrive.’
‘I got some ideas,’ said Richard. ‘You know how Tarantino –’
Everybody groaned.
‘No listen, I think you might like this,’ he persisted. ‘You know how Tarantino revitalised John Travolta’s career with Pulp Fiction? And Pam Grier’s, with Jackie Brown?’
Everyone nodded.
‘I’d like to try doing something like that for some of the younger porn stars who came and went too fast. Track ’em down, you know, and bring them back to a new audience.’
Emily looked at Luke.
He nodded. ‘Why not? There’s no budget for it, though. We got squat. Especially now that Em –’
Debutante Page 7
