The Truth about Porn Star Boyfriends

by Sunniva Dee

  “Champagne, then?” she asks, hopeful.

  “Champagne. A case of it, supposedly. You’ll be parking your car tonight. I think we already have a guestroom set up for you.”

  Ana slaps a high-five to the palm I offer and pulls out of the driveway. She rolls the window down and calls out, “What time?”

  “Whenever you want, but dinner at eight.”

  “Hell yeah. Break a leg.”

  So I break a leg. Hard. I swear the test is made for someone else. In the weeks it took me to get my head on straight after Mom was hospitalized, the professor must have gone through two-thirds of what the exam is about.

  I linger on in there, struggling longer than my classmates. A dark-haired guy my age jerks his chin at me in greeting on his way out. Yeah, he’s nice. I should have asked to borrow his notes. Mine were seriously lacking.

  Sweat trickles down my spine by the time I’m done. I groan to myself, rake my fingers through my hair, and stand slowly. Professor Hargrove stands too, taking my sad document with an outstretched hand.

  “How was it?” he asks, friendly.

  “Oh.” I shrug, because I don’t know what to say. I should be polite. I might end up in another class of his later.

  “That bad, huh?” He chuckles good-naturedly, but then his smile fades. “You were gone for a while, there, weren’t you?”

  “I was.” My stare strays to my feet.

  “I’m not going to ask any details. It’s up to you if you want to tell me what’s going on, but you had a lot of potential. It seemed like you enjoyed the class?” His voice lifts in a question.

  “I did. I mean, I still do. I love this stuff. It’s just… family.”

  “Family emergency?”

  I look up, and what is it with people looking understanding and you wanting to burst into tears?

  That’s exactly what I do. I’m so ashamed the moisture down my back magically spreads to my forehead too. “I’m sorry, Professor. That’s not for you to worry about.”

  “To the contrary. I do worry about my students. Did the family emergency interfere with classwork?”

  I try to laugh. “You can say that.”

  “Should you be applying for an ‘Incomplete,’ Miss Nichols?”

  “An Incomplete?”

  “Yes. We don’t track absences at this college, which makes it difficult to know if a student has problems outside of not putting in the work. But now that I know, I can extend the semester for you and give you time to finish your last projects. If your final exam doesn’t match the level of your former work in my class, I could give you an independent study and give you the chance to do it right.”

  “You could do that?”

  “I could. If you’re willing to reveal what has been going on, preferably adding a doctor’s note or other relevant documentation, then you can put in a request for an Incomplete, and I’ll be happy to sign off on it.”

  My face must be brightening to an extreme extent, because so does my professor’s. I notice his ears first. They draw backward, softening the wrinkles on his forehead before his beard draws out and up in a smile.

  “Let’s do this.” He waves my test at me. “I’ll look this over and let you know if you need an Incomplete. Then we’ll take it from there.”

  “Thank you. Oh god, thank you. You have no idea,” I say although he probably does. “This was my first college class…”

  His brows arch like he suddenly notices how much older I am than the other students.

  “I was really hating the thought of crashing and burning on the first try.”

  “We’ll get you back on track, Savannah.”

  “Thank you, Professor,” I keep saying. “Thank you.”

  I go by my own house on the way back.

  It’s early, and Ciro is at work anyway. I’ve become efficient at suppressing bleak thoughts. I do it automatically now, start thinking about something beautiful, a quick segue into flamingo lilies and hibiscus.

  I shower while I concentrate. Hibiscus. Hibiscus. Flamingo lilies. But then my mind strays to sweet, poor Silk. Again, I compare our pasts, our presents. I compare our appearances.

  I do what I’ve done lately, remind myself that she’s in San Francisco. She did get a contract with Harmony Femme. She’s gone, away from us. Now, all I have to deal with is his job.

  My finals, Mom being about to get released from the safe, private treatment center Ciro insisted on. It’s not all negative. Objectively, I know that. But it makes it hard to concentrate on hibiscus and flamingo lilies.

  “What’s wrong, Savannah?”

  “Oh nothing. Just something in my throat.”

  “B.S. What is it? I don’t want you sad.”

  “Hey, everyone needs downtime from happy.”

  “It’s my work again, isn’t it?”

  I shook my head. We weren’t going to have this conversation again. I knew what I went into when I became his girlfriend this time. At some point in the future, I’d have full control of even my most fragile moments. Just, for now he sent me into a tailspin even by coming home late from work.

  “Do you like gumbo? I never asked you.” My voice trembled, but I reined it in toward the end.

  “Yeah.” His eyes didn’t leave my face, so I turned and strode into the kitchen.

  “Good, because I bought shrimp and Applewood bacon. I took the liberty of giving Mrs. Brandt the night off. Hope that’s okay?”

  “Of course it is.”

  “Get prepared to be wowed, Mr. Silveira.”

  Tonight is different. It’ll be a good night as long as I can rinse my thoughts in the shower. Ana and Aaron will be there. Frieda and Charlotte both work, and Sam has the early shift at the theater, but Ciro still invited all my friends.

  “It’s time,” he told me. “Frieda seems slightly less pissed at me these days. Maybe if I wine and dine all of your friends at once?”

  “They’ll come way after dinner, though,” I reminded him.

  “Which is why we’ll have tapas.”

  I arrive at the bunker at six. As I key myself onto his property, that old sensation of doomsday prickles my nerves. It’s one I haven’t felt in a while.

  I scan the driveway and the space behind the guest house. No extra cars, and the front door is closed. I fight the urge to peek inside his garage to see if he’s back... or if there are unfamiliar cars in there. Like shiny red convertibles.

  Pull yourself together.

  This is my day. Of all days, my boyfriend would not jeopardize my happiness today. It was my first final exam at college level. He knows I’d want to celebrate or need a cheering up. He loves me. I know this.

  The front door is locked. Good. Good sign. I beep in the code and enter quietly. Princess doesn’t react when I start on the stairs. Where’s her single-bark greeting?

  I’m silent, climb step after step. Over the doggie gate. Ciro’s shoes are here, socks on top, by the banister. The same black ones he wore this morning.

  Moans sieve out from the upstairs guestroom. Her guestroom. Deep, silky moans that go straight my abdomen. They’re my baby’s. With someone. The sound is perfect, intimate—

  The agony spears me in one, swift, black stab.

  Has he ever been this euphoric with me?

  I crumble. I run. I rage. I cry. I do it in my head.

  I move on, past the bathroom. Toward the guestroom. The door is closed. I don’t remember the color of the sheets in there. I hope they’re not red.

  Tears sprout. Fall. I’m silent. I won’t break down, and I won’t flee. You learn from past crises, you know, even as your heart bleeds out. Each disaster makes it easier. Each crisis makes you think clearer—finally, finally I know Status Quo is an illusion.

  My fingers stretch over the door, pressing against it as my cheek meets the panel.
My baby, my love whispers, “Oh god, you feel so good—

  “Ah you’re so tight—

  His words become undistinguishable, disappearing in groans of intense pleasure, and I shut my eyes as tears bathe me. I—

  listen to his breathing grow heavier

  my exorcism and me listen

  I soak up the pain so I will never forget that

  porn stars can’t be boyfriends

  porn stars are emotionally stumped

  porn stars betray those who love them

  I draw mucus down my nose and throat. He was a good actor, my boyfriend. So good at making me believe he could love back.

  “I’m coming. Oh yeah, swallow, sugar. Take the whole load.” His groan is so loud I flinch. I’m not leaving. This is the last time, and I’m not afraid anymore.

  He quiets. I hold my breath, listening as I move my hand to the doorknob. I jump back when he starts up again, and—and I hear the girl.

  I let out a sob—she sobs too, in ecstasy. “Fuck me. Fuck me harder.”

  His strangled groan tells me he’s doing what she asks of him, and that voice—

  “God, you’re so big. So good”—I know that voice. I’ve heard her words before when she whimpers, “I don’t know what to do!”

  I twist the knob. It’s the regular, cheap, golden doorknob of a house way below the standards of the bunker. It stands between my heart and the naked bodies of the man I love and the woman he’s betraying me with.

  I’m hemorrhaging.

  I don’t think of her past, how deserving she is of someone like him. This is me and my life. In the midst of my hurricane, this moment needs to count for years and decades to come.

  I force air into my lungs, because this time I will yell. I will roar, lion-like, with all the righteousness of a wronged lover. I’ll do it— A catharsis—

  A small yelp escapes me as I take in the room.

  “Savannah, you’re home early! Shit, I wanted to...” He groans, eyes closing. “I’m so sorry, baby girl. I really didn’t want you to find out this way.”

  I can’t speak.

  I take one step, staring, staring.

  All the air in my lungs dissipates with the scene around me. I thought I had steeled myself for anything.

  What is happening in here? I can only mouth it.

  “Come here.” He opens his arms for me, sweater-clad against the blaring A/C. Princess wiggles by my feet. She whines with contentment, so normal, so natural.

  A desk. Shelves. A barefoot Ciro. I make no move toward him, so he stands and pulls me in until I sit stiffly on his legs. I hiccough.

  He sighs, unhappy, but then he squeezes me and shifts me to one knee so he can swing us around on the chair. “It was supposed to be a surprise for tonight, but maybe this is just as well.”

  I wasn’t steeled for this. I draw a breath my lungs don’t know what to do with, and he cups my face, brows drawing together. “You're crying?”

  I was only steeled for the worst.

  “Don’t do that.” I wipe my hand over my face. “What surprise?”

  I let him kiss my eyes before he starts a video on a computer. There was no desk in here before, no computer. The room only held the bed and two nightstands.

  “No. I don’t want to see.”

  “I think that maybe you do.”

  A woman comes into focus, and she is lovely. It is Silk with a man who’s not Drake Constantine. Her hair and body glow as he caresses her between soft sheets. Creamy drapes flow in a gentle, tropical breeze, barely touching the two of them while they make love.

  “Why are we watching this?”

  “Shh. Listen.”

  I do. Pleasure permeates their air and flows out through the speakers. I look up. Ciro meets my stare—and then the sounds of the man are his!

  I gasp. “What is this?”

  “Voice-over.”

  My eyes draw to the microphone by the keyboard. My baby wiggles it, gaze intent on me.

  I’m quiet.

  I start to laugh.

  I can’t stop laughing, and my laughter climbs and becomes shrill before it tapers into sobs. He lifts me, then, and nuzzles his face into the crook of my neck. My baby rocks us carrying me out of the guestroom, and into our room.

  I crush him tight. Even on the bed, I keep crushing, and it makes his chest rumble happily. I scissor my legs around him. We stay like this, tight, tight while I sob, and he doesn’t make any attempts at changing our Status Quo.

  “Is this my girl being content?”

  “I can’t... believe...”

  “... that I’ll do anything to see you happy?”

  “My woman is delirious,” Ciro says to Ana when Aaron and she arrive. He juts his chin at me, winking, and my face hurts with joy.

  “Ooh, look at that. Did you celebrate before the party?” Ana winks at me and forms a plump red pout for me to giggle at.

  “Of course. I’m not sure if that’s what triggered it though.”

  “Aww, honey. You’ll do better next time,” she mocks, and I giggle again. I cannot for the life of me stop giggling. I scoop up Princess, who’s unused to being scooped up. She’s heavy as hell, but Ciro’s setting up the bar and manning the ovens to heat up the tapas, and I need a hug by someone in the know.

  “So what’s going on?” Ana leans in over Princess. She takes a gulp of her champagne and blinks gorgeous lashes at me.

  “I’ll let him brief you once he’s ready. I’m— Ah. I’m stoked.” I do a little fizzy-laugh in my throat, which makes Ana wiggle her hips on her stool. Aaron joins us, embracing his girl from the back and kissing the top of her head.

  The doorbell rings. I didn’t know we had one. I’m wearing my deep red mini dress, the one I bought to impress Ciro what feels like ages ago. I tiptoe down the steps barefoot with my shiny toenails and open to a barrage of friends.

  With eyes that are happy streaks of black, Lin claps his hands butterfly-fast. Frieda dons a half-smirk, and even Charlotte’s deep lakes glimmer with excitement.

  “Where’s the booze?” Sam asks curtly. I show them all upstairs.

  “You’re off early?”

  “Your boyfriend sent us up with this.” Frieda rolls her eyes and holds out three bags full of Mintrer’s food. “He also paid for our waitress services and then some.” She commits another eye-roll, so I say her face will get stuck that way if she doesn’t stop.

  Suspicious, she finally notices my state. “What’s with you?”

  “Nothing.” I giggle.

  “You’re giggling. What the hell?”

  “Let it go. We’re guests, Frieda,” Charlotte murmurs while her eyes roam over my boyfriend’s paintings and sculptures. “Hi Ciro. Good to see you.”

  “Hey, kids. Glad you could make it.”

  “You bought us,” Frieda says for my ears only and cusses when another giggle escapes me.

  We’re halfway into tapas and champagne and rosé when Ciro leans back in his chair and tells us he won’t be holding a speech. “As you know, Savannah had her first college exam today.”

  “And bombed it,” I add. Ana woots, palms in the air, which makes Lin cheer with her.

  “And got an extension?” Ciro nods at me.

  “I did.”

  Ana woots again, which sets off Frieda and Charlotte. Sam has gone straight for the whiskey and is on his second on-the-rocks round. So far he hasn’t acknowledged Ciro’s presence at all.

  “But we have bigger news.” I giggle, which makes Frieda groan. “Baby, tell them.”

  “Sure.” Leisurely, Ciro stretches his arms in the air before he crosses them behind his head. “I was lucky with the timing. My agent and I had been working on this concept for a few months, and with the slide-over of a friend to Harmony Femme, the opportunity finally materialized.�
��

  “Oh and this bad boy kept it a secret from me the whole time.” I bite down on my lips to keep from giggling again.

  Ciro sends me a tender gaze. “Yeah. I didn’t want to create hope I couldn’t fulfill. There were a lot of legal and administrative obstacles to sort through, and a shit-ton of negotiations with the studios because I wasn’t going to crash and burn in month two. Anyway. That part’s out of the way, and I think I just hauled the moon down for my baby girl this morning.”

  “God, yes,” I murmur, and his smile breaks open. In a rush, I understand why he loves to see me happy. I can’t think of anything better than watching him like this. I know what he’s thinking; by grabbing the moon for me, he’s secured it for us both.

  “At six this morning, I signed my fourth long-term contract for my new company Drake-On-Demand. I’m now legally bound to Harmony Femme, Sensations Playground, Lucid, and Tolerance U.S.”

  “What the...? And you’re happy about this?” Frieda’s glare could kill entire bug colonies. My exuberant nod doesn’t appease her, and neither does it Sam. He’s staring into his drink like he wants to murder it.

  “Oh my god, that’s amazing! Four contracts at once?” Ana wiggles and claps, bringing Lin with her. “What films?”

  “Harmony Femme’s is their three-year short series Twenty-Four Hours.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Ana is so excited for him. “That’s a dream come true. You’re such a star.”

  “Eventually, maybe?”

  “Right.” Ana and Aaron both laugh.

  “Gotta start over again now, you know, making a name for myself, since my new company is voice-over only.”

  Everyone hears it, and while people are rendered speechless around us, my chest explodes with Carpe Diems.

  I have a pretty good idea of what they’ve been thinking about me. Poor Savannah. She doesn’t know how to say enough is enough. God knows how long she’ll let him take advantage of her. They won’t think that anymore.

  “Silveira.” Samuel’s eyes lift slowly and bore into my boyfriend for the first time tonight. “Are you telling me that you’re quitting porn?”