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Brice looks me up and down as we exit the hospital. Although he’s got a noticeable limp, he’s walking on his own beside me. And Tuesday has reassured us that after six more months of physical therapy, he’ll be as good as new. Minus all the bars fused permanently to his bones.
“Wasn’t dyeing it blue enough? Did you have to chop it all off too?”
I rub my fingers through my new hairstyle. It’s the shortest I’ve ever worn it. “You have no idea how much it's helped with getting recognized.”
So much has happened in the past three months that it feels like years have passed since that night I almost slept with Jack.
For the first month after reuniting with Brice, I couldn’t even get nervous about the release of my new ‘Choose Your Own Sex-venture’ video series that Greg was putting all of his attention into now that his studio had burnt down. Because I was pretty sure I knew who the fire starter was: me. So when I got the call from Greg that the fire department had finished their preliminary investigation and ruled that it was indeed arson, I didn’t sleep for days.
Then Sally was arrested.
“It was Sally?” I asked Greg when he called to deliver the news.
I could practically hear him shrug his shoulders when he answered, “That’s what the cops are saying. Lighter fluid in the wardrobe room with a bottle that still had her prints on it. She’s not saying anything, but she better hope she’s got a good lawyer, because she’s sure as hell going to pay. I just wish I knew why she did it.”
After the heavy weight of guilt slid off my shoulders, it took me all of three seconds to realize why Sally had done what she did. I remember all too clearly the way Greg had treated her that first day Brice and I showed up at the studio. He said she used to be a star, but the woman I saw sitting behind the front desk appeared to have been chewed up and spit out like gristle. No one in this industry has a long shelf life, and the longer you hang around, the more degrading it’s going to get.
Which is why I’m glad I got out when I did. Though from the constant stares I get in coffee shops and on the street, it feels like I’m still neck deep in it.
Sally’s storm blew over fast and made way for the advent of my new video series. Greg never told me how much advertising money he threw into getting it out there, but overnight it seemed like I was a celebrity that no one would acknowledge. At least a dozen guys a day would glance over me, but as soon as they recognized me, they turned pale and would pretend like I was invisible. Usually because they were with a significant other. But there was the odd guy, always awkward and usually smelling of body odor, who would march right up to me, introduce himself, and give me a rundown of how many times he’d gotten off to my videos.
Gross.
Hence the hair cut and dye. Hence the sunglasses that cover half my face. But for as many times as I regretted ever filming that series, I was a thousand times more grateful when the first paycheck rolled around.
“Now, I know what we agreed on,” Greg was saying as he handed over an envelope at the same diner we first met at on that morning after. He looks to have lost a bit of weight. Not only that, but he doesn’t order the deluxe breakfast, instead opting for a simple plate of toast, egg, and grapefruit. “But due to extenuating circumstances, your first paycheck is going to be a bit of an anomaly.”
Immediately my mind goes to all the ways Greg is currently screwing me. His makeover is obviously the result of a large windfall. He’s finally been able to get his shit together because he’s got a bit of cash in his pocket. Not only from the insurance payout, but I’m suspecting from all my hard work. Hard work that followed an idea that was solely mine. He might have backed up my project financially and done a lot of the legwork in regards to setting up the website and all that stuff, but that’s the whole reason we had a solid agreement set out from the beginning.
Now he’s breaking it.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I say, barely paying attention as I open the envelope. All I can think of is how much I want to slap that shit-eating grin off Greg’s face right now. He looks so pleased with himself. Obviously he’s found some loophole in our contract that gives him the ability to cut me out of the money I deserve. Or maybe it was there from the very beginning and this was always a part of his plan. “After all the work I did for you even wh
ile Brice was in the hospital suffering. Do you know what it’s like to film twelve hours a day? Do you know what kind of chafing that…?”
My words fall away as all focus in my brain turns to the numbers on the paper before me. Greg wasn’t lying. This isn’t what we agreed on.
It’s much, much more.
“I’m guessing you haven’t gone online much in the past couple of weeks.”
I shake my head. I’ve been plenty busy at the hospital every day, helping Brice during his physical therapy sessions and giving him a few private sessions late at night when the nurses are less likely to barge in and ruin our fun.
“Let’s just say that there are already copycat websites popping up, but their content isn’t quite up to snuff. No one has had time to film all the scenes they’d need, so they’re just cobbling together footage they already have. The good news is that the competitors’ lackluster attempts to imitate us are only making our series shine all the more. That payment is just from the first round of payments we’ve received. There will be more coming soon.”
I open my mouth, but words still don’t come out. I was expecting enough money to maybe buy a used car. This is enough for a down payment on a house. And not a modest one either.
“Just don’t expect every payment to be this big. They’ll dwindle as the months go by. Especially since we’re not going to be shooting any new footage.”
“Did Brice tell you that I was quitting?” I ask, confused.
Greg nods his head as if confirming a suspicion he had. “I didn’t actually know for sure until just now, but I suspected. What I meant was that I’m done. I’ve been doing this since college, putting off other dreams and such. I think we both have enough money not to worry about things for a while, so I want to wish you luck.” He juts his hand out between us, and I remember when we first met in person. Back then I saw only his disgusting qualities, but through all of this—while I can’t say that he’s become a friend—Greg hasn’t been a terrible boss. “I wish you well.”
I shake his hand and wonder what dream I’ve been putting off. It doesn’t take me long to remember where my passion really lies. And it’s not with adult movies, but with classics that are corny as hell.
“I can’t believe you’re not more excited,” Brice is saying as we take a taxi to Main Street. “I’d be talking a mile a minute if I were you. I mean, I sort of am already. I guess I’m nervous for you.”
The truth is that thoughts and worries and ideas bounce around in my head like a pinball machine on the fritz. The biggest concern is also the oldest: have I just thrown away all my newly acquired money on a money pit? Who’s ever going to come to my place? I did what little market research I could, but it was hard because I’ve never heard of anyone opening a place quite like mine.
