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Before my heart can reason with my brain to stop, my phone is next to my ear, and I’m waiting for the other side to pick up.
“I was hoping you would call,” Greg says in way of an answer.
“Can we meet? Because I have a few conditions.”
This is my first time in Greg’s office. Before this we used the conference room to sign contracts, but Sally is setting up in there for a meeting with investors. She’s checking over a PowerPoint when I walk by. When our eyes meet, I detect a hint of pity coming off her.
Greg shakes his head again. He’s twirling a pencil in his left hand. “There’s no way I can agree to that. It would be like handcuffing myself, and not in a sexy BDSM sort of way.”
Besides his desk, which is strewn with DVDs and mock-ups of advertisements featuring women whose breasts are larger than their heads, his office is simple. Almost stylish in its minimalism. There’s a single poster behind me—a movie poster from the classic 80s film, ‘When Harry Met Sally’. Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal face each other, each wearing goofy, love-stricken smiles. A bookshelf takes up the whole wall behind Greg. On it are DVD covers displaying any number of sex acts, trophies in the shape of buxom figures, and a dozen thick books on the topic of filmmaking.
“That’s the only one I absolutely can’t budge on.”
“Look, I can pay you on a weekly basis rather than a monthly one. The rate you’re asking for is steep, but I’ve seen your work, so I’m willing to go that high. Promising that Brice will never know anything about our little deal is easy. (Though if he catches a glimpse of you online, that’s on you.) But I can’t have one of my girls used strictly for solo scenes. We thrive on fetishes here. All my actors need to have a variety of specialties. I’m not asking you to start filming gang bangs on the daily, but if you’re not open to filming with partners, I don’t know how this could possibly be profitable.”
I knew this was going to be a sticking point for Greg. And for good reason. I’m basically tearing away 99% of the possible scenarios we can use. But I came prepared.
“You’re acting like I’m new to this. Like I don’t know my audience. Don’t you remember how you found me?”
“Camming sites are different,” Greg argues. “You might think the tips are good, but it’s not enough to sustain a business like mine. Besides, the tricks you used in live shows aren’t going to work on film.”
I shake my head. “You’re missing the point. You’re thinking too black and white. I’m saying that we fuse the two.”
“And how do we go about that?”
Here’s where I lay out my spiel. I’m far from a businesswoman, but I’ve done enough reading online—plus more than my share of experimenting with my own cam site—to know the effects of loss leaders and funnels that lead customers down to more expensive purchases. The way I used to do it was to attract customers to my live shows, which were free to watch up to a point. They could participate by asking me to do things, and if they tipped enough, I usually would. But since these recordings can’t possibly be live, we can’t exactly ask for tips. Except, I’ve thought of a way around that.
“Have you ever heard of Choose-Your-Own-Adventure books?”
Up to now, Greg has been growing visibly agitated with this whole talk, tapping a pen with increasing intensity and tempo against the desk. No doubt he’s thought it was a waste of time from the moment that I declared I wouldn’t be doing scenes with anyone besides Brice. But it only takes him about three seconds after I ask this question for his face to light up. The neurons are clearly firing; I’ve gotten my message across with a single question. But now it’s time to set the hook and reel him in.
“But our Choose-Your-Own-Adventure would require a small ‘tip’ for each decision. And the deeper they go—and the deeper I go,” I say, putting on an extra thick sexy voice, “the more they have to pay.”
Greg tilts his head, picks up a pen, and begins writing illegible math equations on a sheet of paper. After only two minutes, his head pops back up. “Even if we’re only looking at five levels, including the first, and three choices per level after that initial one, we’re talking about filming 81 videos. If you want to add another layer, that’s going to be 243 videos.”
“Only if each and every choice creates a unique scenario. But I don’t think that will be the case. If we can map it out smartly, I’m betting we’ll end up with closer to 200 videos.
Greg is shaking his head. “Even then, calculating that each is 10 minutes, we’re looking at 2,000 minutes of finished video. That’s more than 30 hours! And that’s not accounting for all the resets and video editing. Plus this type of thing has never been done before. I’ll have to get my web developer to put something completely new together.”
At this, I know he’s too excited to ever say no. So I lean over and finally ask, “When do we start shooting?”
Chapter 12
As shocking as having your boyfriend in the hospital while you lead a double life on the outside is, life quickly falls into a rhythm. I spend mornings and nights with Brice. We talk about everything we’re going to do once he’s discharged (which Dr. Heyman still won’t give us a fixed date for). We’ve got a whole list of places we want to visit. Having grown up right under the line of poverty, neither of us has done much traveling outside our great state of Ohio.
“New York City,” Brice says. He raises one arm up high, acting like he’s holding a torch. “The Statue of Liberty. The Empire State Building. Imagine being in Time Square for the ball drop on New Year’s Eve.”
We’re talking over ‘leftovers’ I brought from my fake workplace. In reality, I just got take-out from the Brazilian barbecue place and got rid of the receipt. After swallowing a mouthful of incredibly soft lamb, I say, “No way. Have you ever read the horror stories of people there for New Year’s? You have to get there hours early. Then you’re, like, cordoned off in fences. And you can’t leave to go to the bathroom so a lot of people wear diapers. No thank you,” I say and wave a pork rib at him. “
I’m not pissing myself just so I can kind of see the ball drop while I’m surrounded by tens of thousands of other people also pissing themselves.”
“Fine,” Brice says. “But I don’t see how your plan to buy that rundown theater is any better. It’s been empty for years for a reason. And that reason is a Mega-plex just down the road.”
“We’re supposed to be fantasizing here, right? It’s not like I could ever afford the place. I just like to imagine how it might look all fixed up.”
“You could hang some of that mystical artwork I’ve still never seen up in there too.” He smirks, but the expression quickly slides off his face, revealing a far too serious side of him that I’m seeing too much of these days. He’s staring down at his lap where he’s got his plate of meat and rice.
“What’s up?” I ask him. “Not hungry today either?”
