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Dave stops at a table ahead of us. “Hey, man. I didn’t know you were in town,” he says to the man sitting at the table.
I smile and keep walking. “I’m going ahead,” I say to Dave.
“No, man. I want to introduce you. I’ve meant to shoot Dean an e-mail about you for months now, but I’ve been fucking busy.”
I walk toward the table. The guy looks familiar, but so do half of the people in here. He’s got blond hair styled like Dave’s, and he’s wearing a suit that I know costs the same as one day at the facility my mother’s living in during her treatment.
“Hey, Dave. I didn’t know you were in town, either.” He nods at his companion. “This is my wife, Milly.”
I look down at her and smile politely at the beautiful red-haired woman, who looks like some sort of Egyptian goddess, sitting across from him. She smiles back politely before she looks at her husband and says, “Dean, no business tonight, please?”
She turns her smile on us and says, “I hate to rush your reunion, but it’s our first trip together alone since our daughter was born. I’m sure you understand.”
I nod. Her honesty is refreshing. I wish I could tell everyone to leave me the fuck alone, too.
“Sure, no problem, Mrs. Orleans,” Dave says, sounding politer than I’ve ever heard him.
“Mr. Davis.” I look up, startled to find Dean talking to me.
“Yeah?” I answer a little haltingly.
“Here’s my card. Call me on Monday. I’d like to talk to you about representation.”
I glance at Dave who’s nodding vigorously at me, and I take the card.
“Sure, thanks. Nice to meet you.” I glance at Milly. “Well, sort of.” And we all laugh as Dave and I head to the table where Reece and Omar are waiting.
“Who the fuck is that? Why did he give me his card?” I ask Dave as soon as we’re out of earshot of their table.
“Dude, you should be thanking me, that’s only the best talent agent in the country.”
“Why aren’t you working with him, then?”
“He wouldn’t take me on as a client. Said he needed clients who would take his advice and he didn’t think that was me. I’m glad. He’s a hard-ass. Margaux’s lazy as fuck,” he says about his agent with a shrug. “I am, too, so it works. I think you should work with him. If he’s interested in talking to you, then you better jump on that. He’s got the Midas touch when it comes to endorsements and shit. You’re like disciplined as fuck. You’re totally wasting your life working for Nanette on this personal trainer to the stars bullshit. Look how people react to you, Graham. You could be famous. Like, for real. Not just Instagram famous, but like on tv or something. And if anyone can do it for you, it’s him.”
He jerks his thumb over his shoulder in Dean’s direction.
I get calls from “agents” all the time. I’d gotten all sorts of offers since I started showing up on red carpets and shit. So far, they’d all been offers to do porn.
“Sure, I’ll call him,” I say noncommittally. I have no plans to do that. I’ve had enough offers to last me a lifetime.
“Oh, yes. You sexy motherfucker. I’m so close.”
I look down at the bare back of the woman who currently thrusting backward on my cock. She’s moaning and calling my name, and every time I hear it pass her lips, I have to remind myself that this is how I pay for the treatment my mother’s receiving. The treatment that’s working.
This client, Angelina, at least that’s what she said her name is, is one of my regulars. She fucks at least two of Nanette’s other “trainers” and she only comes to me when she’s in the mood to be fucked really hard.
Because, lately, that’s all I can do.
When I’m fucking these women—some of them older than my mother—making them feel good, pretending that I loved being with them, I resent my entire existence.
The nice car, the polo membership, all of the things I used to think would make up at least in part for everything else I’d given up don’t mean a thing to me.
The worst part of it all was that Nanette demanded her pound of flesh.
>
I hated that more than anything.
