by Evelyn Glass
He turned silently, back into his office. I followed at his heels, shutting the door quickly behind him. I took a look at the office. It was modern, sterile, cold. It was nothing what I expected. It was full of white furniture, white desks, silver and chrome accents. Some books on filmmaking sat on a twisting bookcase. And the window was covered with a white velvet shade.
He sat in a silver and black lounge chair, leaning back as he asked, “So what do I owe this pleasure, Wilder?”
“I want to work with Kylie again.” I just spat it out. I knew what I wanted and that was more time with her.
“That’s not going to be possible.” Daniel was rummaging through some papers sitting in a black folder. He pulled one out and studied it before adding, “She’s only booked for eight films, and I’ve already planned out the stories and booked the guys. Too bad we can’t have her on permanently. She obviously has some chemistry with you…and those tits. Man. Perfection. You don’t get that natural look with these other girls.”
“When were you in the business of doing such short contracts? I know Julie still owes you at least twenty more films before she’s out of your pocket.” My first forty was small, a short deal as he called it at the time. It was enough to pay down my debts to dealers and make a small living. Once my first forty were complete, I was hooked for another two hundred.
“What can I say? I had mercy on her. She needed some quick cash and had the look I wanted for a few films, so she’s only signed for the rest of the month.” He put his hands to his mouth, studying me. I wouldn’t blame him. I never showed interest in an actress or the business before. And me showing up at this location was suspicious.
I offered a solution, “Then trade me out with one of the guys. I’ll take the lower pay. Whatever. Just get it done.”
He continued to just stare at me, watching me for some hidden sign. He wrote a note with a black marker, crossing a line through a name on a sheet. “I’ll make that deal with you, Wilder. But only because I was just reviewing the raw film from the shoot yesterday. I’m not going to deny that you two are going to make me rich. This porn is going to go viral. Even the two minute preview we put on the site has already 500,000 views. And the advance buys are through the roof. If you can make that happen again, then it’ll be worth canceling on a guy’s contract.”
“You’ve got the footage already?” I hesitated before asking, “Can I watch it?”
He turned his screen in my direction and walked towards the door. “Suit yourself, man.” He walked out, closing the door behind him, leaving me with the blank screen. I reached over the desk and used the mouse to click the play button and then sat back to watch.
I listened to her voice as she recited the lines right on cue, her eyes narrowed in at the right moments, her hands robotic but still looking natural. She wasn’t comfortable with the acting and the idea that she should be the seductress, you could tell. Luckily for her, no one ever watches these things for the acting.
Then came the kiss. It was out of nowhere, the camera shook as they responded to me throwing her up against the wall. Our hands groped and felt at one another. By the time we started the 69, I found myself more turned on than before. It was bringing me back to those moments when our bodies had connected. I watched her face as she orgasmed with fascination. She wasn’t like anything I'd ever had. And I doubt I’d find her again.
I had one shot with her. One film to get to the bottom of her, to figure out who she was, and why I couldn’t get those hazel eyes out of my mind.
Chapter 6
Beep! Beep! Beep!
The sound of my alarm was going off over and over again. I could hear pounding on my door, someone screaming my name along with some profanities. “Get up, Kylie! Your fucking alarm has been going off for an hour now!”
I reached a tired, heavy arm across my body, pulling it from the depths of my covers. The alarm’s incessant buzzing stopped as soon as I managed to find the raised button on the boxing clock near my pillow. I flickered my eyes open as I tried to adjust my eyes to the dim lamp light of my dorm room. I could see the sun streaming through the cracks of the closed blinds and make out the sound of the next door neighbor’s television playing some soap opera where an older man was threatening the life of his daughter’s scheming boyfriend…
Soap opera! SHIT! It was Monday, and I know from experience that my neighbor never watches her soaps in the morning. She watches the news. I turned my head quickly towards the clock I just slammed. It’s 10:38. I was already eight minutes late for class, and I hadn’t even managed to get dressed yet. I slipped out of my top bunk bed and landed hard on the cold floor. My clothes from the day before were still sitting on the chair as I slipped yesterday’s jeans on without hesitation. I used the hair tie from around my wrist to tie up my messy, frizzy hair into a big bun upon my head before grabbing my bag and running out the door of my dorm room.
Lana was already gone, probably sitting in my seat at class. I was usually the one begging her to go, warning her what would or could happen if she decided to skip for the fortieth time that semester. But today, she let me sleep in. Probably because she spent all night scolding me for being so distant and tired. I wasn’t up for the same old clubs and people with the painted faces and the bulging muscles. It just didn’t appeal to me after the shoot. And Daniel graciously didn’t schedule me for a shift at the bar after the whole bottle accident.
Luckily for me, class was in Marker’s Hall, only a few blocks from campus. As I streamed in from the double-sided glass doors, I checked my phone: 11:09. There were only about twenty minutes left in my least favorite class of all – Statistics in Economics.
I opened the big wooden door slowly, peeking my head in first to try to scope out an indiscreet seat in the back. The lecture hall was long and wide, set up just like a theater and less like a classroom. There was a chair under the balcony where the lights don’t shine that brightly. A few students, including Lana, snoozed or dazed away out of the glare of the professor. I took a deep breath and sneak in, folding my body in half so I wasn’t spotted behind the back row of chairs.
Once I crossed the aisle, I threw my textbook and notebook on the desk and slid into the seat. No one has noticed me except for the group of tired, angsty sleepers. Lana stirred behind me, and then started hissing at me. “Psssss! Pssssssssss!” I turned around towards her and give her an upset glare. She was the reason why I was late. She couldn’t even bother to wake me up to get to class on time.
“Kylie!” she urgently said, “Kylie!”
“What?” I replied back, keeping my lips closed and my eyes focused ahead of me to the screen where a picture of a math equation waits to be copied.
“What are you doing here? I was letting you sleep in.” Her voice was concerned, but I could hardly bother with that.
“I didn’t ask you to let me sleep in. I never, ever miss class, Lana. Some of us actually care about graduating and getting a freakin’ job outside of a bar.” I instantly regretted it. I knew Lana cared. She may have cared more than most people at the school, but she hid it under a mask of makeup and tight dresses. Lana wanted to become an entertainment manager, and she knew that beauty and confidence came with it. But sometimes I wondered how much of the brains and know-how she was sacrificing by concentrating on the artificial.
“I’m sorry, Kylie. I am. I just thought you would appreciate a couple extra hours after the weekend you’ve had.” She was right. I needed it.
I had been so dog tired after the shoot, and the extra burden of knowing that my naked body would be all over the web in a few short hours didn’t make the situation any better. But I hadn’t told her about that. I hadn’t told her I was doing porn or that my stepbrother was my co-star. I'd lied and said Daniel was making me come in during the off-hours to pick up a few extra shifts and work in the back. If she only knew.
I sighed, giving in to her apologies. I couldn’t blame her for wanting to be a good friend. God knows I didn’t have many of them
. I had always been too nerdy, too shy, too poor to fit into a category of friends. But, for some reason, Lana had always been okay with me and my t-shirt collection and my lack of Saturday night plans.
I asked her, “What did I miss? Did he assign anything for this week?” Professor Lamity was always giving out projects at the beginning of class so if you missed or came in late, you’d be screwed.
“A group project. You’re with me, Daphne, Angelica, and Jackson. We’re meeting at the coffee shop on campus afterwards to discuss who is working on what part. Are you going to join us?”
I rolled my eyes. My least favorite projects were always the ones where you had to depend on someone else to get their half done. All my life, anytime I'd depended on someone, they just disappointed me instead. Still, my grade in this class mattered more to me than anything. I nodded that I would go and returned my attention to the board once more for a discussion on statistics used in international trade.
After class, I followed Lana out of the building and into a coffee shop I’ve passed a few times before. We both ordered small coffees and waited for the rest of the group to show. When Daphne walked in, Lana gave her a long hug. I had seen her before outside of class. She was usually at the parties Lana forced me to go to. Angelica was a cheerleader for the football team and looked the part, as well. She was lean and strong with bright blue eyes and the most gorgeous red lips I’ve ever seen. And Jackson fit in well with his stylish blue scarf and his tight denim jeans. If anyone was out of place here, it was me in my old scruffy jeans and the same white button up shirt I wore a few days in a row.
Lana launched right into the conversation without hesitation. “So, Angelica. I hear you’re dating Tad Overland. What’s it like to be sleeping with a potential NFL draft pick?”
Angelica giggled. You could tell by the way she batted her eyes and blushed just so that she got this question often enough to practice. “Oh, Tad is great. He’s a real sweetheart. It’s been two years so we’ll see if we keep seeing each other after the teams start calling again.” She winked towards the girls as they all laugh on cue.
“I never see him at the club I work at, so he must be doing you right,” Lana noted.
“Yeah, he’s pretty loyal. He knows I’ll cut his balls off if he tries to stay. You don’t mess with a cheerleader!”
Jackson reached over and gave her a high-five as Daphne applauded.
Lana added, “That’s great. But I prefer to stay single. I can stray all I want, right, Daphne?”
Daphne smiled her way and nodded her head eagerly.
“What about you, Kylie?” Jackson leaned over and gave me his attention as if we were on some talk show. “Single or taken?”
“Yeah, Kylie! I want to know about your run in with Eric the basketball player!” Lana had been dying for me to fill her in on what had happened with the bottle service. But I'd played it cool, not giving any details about his jerk friends or his roaming fingers.
“Eric Tombly? The Eric Tombly? You have to be kidding me!” Daphne was practically jumping in her seat.
“Don’t get too excited,” I said lowly. “Nothing happened between us. He’s just a rich asshole who can’t keep his hands to himself.”
“Then who made you come home with all that just-been-fucked hair and those doey eyes on Saturday?” Lana wouldn't let up.
I could kill her if I didn’t love her so much. “No one did.” I took a deep sip of my simmering coffee, hoping someone would change the subject.
“She’s lying! She’s lying! Look how red she’s turning!” Jackson was eating this up. He loved being a part of this conversation.
I sat my cup down and made a plan. No one was going to stop asking me, so I offered a nugget to them, “Fine. I met a guy on Saturday afternoon named Wilder while I was working at the bar. He was cool, great guy, and we made out a bit. That’s it.”
“I don’t believe you.” Lana looked me up and down with a smile on her face. She was great at reading people, and I knew better than to try to test her. “Something else happened.”
“Nothing. We just made out a bit.”
Jackson butted in, “At least tell us what he looks like. Was he a good kisser? If you had fuck hair from kissing, I’m guessing he did a pretty good job.”
I let out an exasperated breath and let myself momentarily let my brain go back to three days ago, to that chair on the patio in the middle of a set. To the man with the wolf tattoo. My voice perked as I started, “He’s tall. At least six feet. He’s got shaggy brown hair – totally not my type but great for running your hands through. You can tell he works out, he’s fit, but he isn’t terribly muscular. He has a few scars around his arms and chest, but it just adds to his look. And he has the most beautiful blue eyes, like two fresh pools of water you can dive…”
I stopped, noticing the group. Lana was watching me with mouth agape. Jackson and Daphne are both hunched over the table, their hands pressed to their heads. And Angelica was smiling from ear to ear. On all four of their faces was a look of half disbelief and half praying it was true. I made my stepbrother out to be this God-on-Earth type.
After a beat, Lana leaned in, placed a hand on my shoulder and asked, “And how was the sex?”
“That’s it!” I was back to feeling put off. I had obviously not wanted to talk about this, but the four were like leopards waiting to pounce. I tried hard to keep my voice down to avoid attracting even more attention, “Seriously, Lana. Now, can we just get to this project? I’ve got class at one-thirty.” I hated being such an ass, but I wasn’t going to give them more than that, or worse, risk slipping that I slept with a man for money while others recorded it.
The four laughed hard, amused at my outburst. I was obviously the prude of the table, the best one to tease. I stood up, grabbing my phone. “My mom called. I’ll be back in a couple minutes.” I left them still cackling to themselves as they talked about last week’s conquests and crushes as I redialed my mom’s cell phone. She had tried to reach me several times when I was sleeping, which could only mean one thing.
“Oh, Kylie! I’m glad you finally called me back. I need a favor.” My mother was elated, totally thrilled that I'd made some time for her.
But I knew the game. I knew how to read her before she even got a word in. I was prepared with an answer, “A favor? I’m guessing that you need some money again.”
My mother had been living on her own for the last three years, and before I graduated, she had struggled to pay rent in the tiny one-bedroom apartment we shared. She forced me to work all hours of the night, to take on babysitting jobs and tutoring sessions. But I really didn’t blame her. After Wilder’s father left her and refused to pay the alimony support they agreed on, she was left with absolutely nothing and no way to get a job or an income to support herself.
“I’m not going to lie to you, Kylie. You’re too smart for that. I’m short on rent by about $300. I haven’t had a hot meal in weeks and no one is hiring me through the cleaning service. I just need enough to get by.”
I wavered a bit. This was about the fifth time she’s asked me since I returned to UNLV, but I knew the circumstances. I knew she wasn’t the only person struggling to get by in this economy. She’s one of the reasons why I'm studying business in the first place – so I can start a company that employs women who had to stay home to raise and look after a family rather than go to college or work full time.
I let down my guard. I could never stay mad at her for long, not after what we had been through, “Mom, I can’t do that right now. I haven’t been making great tips at the bar.”
“Please, Kylie. I know I'm asking a lot from you. You shouldn’t be supporting me. I should be giving you money or paying for your tuition. But this is how it goes. Anything you could give me…anything…”
“Can you get a couple more days? I’ll see if I can pick up some shifts with the po—" I caught myself before I could reveal too much, “People I know from school for some babysitting gigs.”
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“Thank you honey. Thank you!” She was truly grateful.
I knew it wasn’t easy for her to ask, and the more frequent it became, the less comfortable she was. I lightened the subject by bringing up our inside joke, “I guess I’ll just have to marry rich faster. Do you know of any princes in town?”
She laughed slightly, letting go of the awkwardness of the conversation. She pivoted a bit, asking me, “So, are there any guys in your life? You never talk about that, and I’m dying to know.”
“There’s this guy. I met him at work. He’s everything I’m usually not looking for: tall, dark, great eyes.”
My mom always had a way of getting things out of me. Unlike Lana, she didn’t push or pry. She made it easy for me to talk about Wilder as if he was just another crush and not my stepbrother.
“Oh my! Does he have a name?” I could tell, even over the phone, she’s beaming. I hadn’t talked about a boy since junior high school.
