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Connie straightened her back and I noticed her breasts move under the silk of her blouse. “What happens when you work with a woman that doesn’t turn you on? Does that happen?”
“Sometimes,” I conceded. “Not very often these days, because I have the luxury of being able to pick and choose which actresses I work with, but when I was performing in other people’s films there were times when the actress and I were not compatible. That makes the work difficult.”
“You mean the girls you were paired with weren’t pretty or sexy enough for you?”
“No – porn is full of sexy women,” I said. “I’m talking about chemistry. Sometimes it’s just not there.”
“So what do you do? How do you keep… stay…”
“Hard?”
“Yes.”
“I fuck a fantasy,” I said simply. “I play out my private fantasy in my mind throughout the scene. Instead of relying on the actress to arouse me through the sexual connection, it all happens in my imagination.”
Connie looked suddenly intrigued. She paused for a moment, and her expression became sly.
“Tell me your fantasy.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s private,” I said.
She persisted. “I think a lot of readers would like to know what really turns Rick Cassidy on…”
I smiled, thinly. “Then tell me yours.”
Connie flinched and the smile on her face twisted. “I don’t have a sexual fantasy.”
I stared at her, my eyebrows raised, my face full of mockery. “Really?”
“Really,” she said. Her eyes flicked away. There was something unsettled in her expression that she masked quickly. “I suppose you like blondes.”
“No,” I countered. “I like beautiful sexy women. I don’t care about the color of their hair, or the size of their breasts. I like a lady who is confident and open about her sexuality.”
“Young?”
“Confident and open about their sexuality,” I said again. “Fucking a teenage nymphomaniac might be every middle-aged man’s fantasy, but when you’ve had as many teen girls as I have over the years, the attraction loses its allure. Age doesn’t matter to me.”
“Then why not fill your films with older women? If it’s all about sexuality rather than age and appearance…” her voice rose an octave and became a challenge.
“Because on film I fuck the kind of girls that my audience wishes they could fuck,” I explained calmly. “That’s what sells my films. But their fantasy is not necessarily mine…”
“And your fantasy is…” Connie tried again.
“A secret,” I said firmly. The smile slipped from my lips. I glanced at the big clock. It was getting late. Outside, night had fallen – the sky was black through the big glass windows.
“Then tell me where you draw the line?” Connie asked. “Where does artistic taste cross over to become something tawdry and crude?”
“That’s a question that doesn’t have a definitive answer,” I said. “My idea of art and tasteful sex on film is something totally different to producers like John Bellamy, for instance. There are many sexual fetishes that I would never capture on film, because they don’t appeal to my audience, or to my personal beliefs. They cross my line.”
“So you do have a line?”
“Of course,” I became incensed. “But my line clearly is very different to your line. And your line is very different to those film makers within the porn industry who feel nothing should be off limits.”
“So should there be censorship?”
“Censorship by who?” I shot back. “You would censor everything beyond a chaste kiss. Some people in Washington would agree with you. Then you have the other extreme, people who insist on their right to free expression, regardless of what they wish to express.” I shook my head heavily. “The audience is – and should always be – the only arbitrator of what pornography is acceptable. People vote with their money every day. They purchase the products they want, and they buy from the brands they trust. Pornography – when you boil it down to its essence – is just another product in a world-wide market. If consumers want to buy extreme porn, then it is there and available for them,” I pointed a finger into the air. “But at the moment ‘mainstream porn’ dominates the industry.”
“Mainstream porn? You mean the kind of porn that you make?”
“Yes.”
Connie shifted in her chair with agitation. It had been a long day. My throat was raw from talking. Connie wiggled around again and stifled a weary yawn.
“Would you like to come to dinner with me?” I asked suddenly.
Connie blinked. “I… I can’t…” she said.
I looked disbelieving. I slapped my hand over my heart, and gave her one of those sincere expressions that politicians use to get themselves elected. “I promise, it will only be dinner.”
She shook her head, started stuffing her notebook into her bag. “No, really. I can’t,” she said again. “I have other plans.”
“Can’t they be postponed?”
“No.” she said emphatically. “Maybe tomorrow night, if the invitation still stands,” she offered to placate me.
I gave in. “Okay,” I said. “Tomorrow night. It’s a date.”
Connie got to her feet, drew her fingers down her skirt to smooth it and pressed at her hair. She gave me a chill little smile. “It’s not a date,” she said. “It’s a dinner. That’s all.”
Chapter 16.
When Connie arrived the next morning the house was unnaturally quiet. She came through the front door with a wary look of uncertain suspicion.
“Where is everybody?”
“Change of shift,” I smiled. “All the girls and my two actors have gone. They left last night. Roland and Victor flew back to Europe, and the four girls have driven north to San Francisco. They have been booked for a couple of weeks of adult entertaining at one of the clubs.”
Connie looked quizzical. “Adult entertaining? You want to tell me what that really means?”
“Stripping,” I said. “They’ve got a gig pole dancing and doing some escort work for wealthy clients.”
Connie didn’t look shocked. Two days ago she would have been outraged.
“And your film crew? Your makeup lady?”
I jerked my head with a gesture towards the big glass doors. “They are all out by the pool relaxing,” I said. “Lily is swimming laps.”
Connie’s expression changed to one of intrigue. “That young girl stayed here last night, Rick?”
I nodded matter-of-factly. “Bellamy is in hospital,” I said, not knowing if I should be sad about that. “He asked if I could keep an eye on her for a couple of days until I fly east.”
Connie folded her arms. She shifted her weight onto one leg so that her hip thrust out and her eyes became cold little things. “I bet you didn’t just keep an eye on her…”
I made my eyes wide and artless. I raised an eyebrow. “You sound jealous?”
She laughed, but the sound was hollow. “I’m not,” she said.
I could’ve told Connie that Lily slept in one of the spare rooms. I could have told her that Lily passed out drunk before midnight and I had to carry her to bed. I could have told her that nothing happened between us… but I didn’t. I just smiled a slow lazy enigmatic smile and sprinkled doubt over her.
I changed the subject. “I have two local actresses due to arrive at any moment,” I said. “We’re filming two more scenes today to wrap up content for a new DVD.”
