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  At three forty-five, the phone chirped on the secretary’s desk. She was obviously one of the hopefuls, dressed as if this were a scene rather than her job. She was too good-looking to choose those old lady frames for her glasses. Probably had perfect vision.

  “Send him back, Katherine,” a man’s voice said through the intercom.

  She smiled at Hopper, winked and said, “Down the hall, first on the right.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Stop and talk to me on your way out?”

  He nodded, but he wouldn’t do that. She was the wrong type—a big-titted blonde with a lacquered face.

  The first door on the right was open, and that’s where all the porn memorabilia was stashed. Posters lined the wood-paneled walls, and a bookshelf full of awards and framed photos—the Weedgardners with Larry Flynt, with Andy Dick, with Traci Lords (post-porn)—welcomed guests behind Vince Weedgardner’s executive desk, long and full of brass paperweights. No computer in sight, but flat against the back wall was a wide-screen monitor running a screensaver of the Bright As Diamonds logo and shadowed dancing women, most certainly naked.

  “Take a seat,” said Weedgardner. He was slumped in a high-backed leather chair, rocking gently with his fingers clutched together over his lap. Slick hair and a goatee, wearing a silk shirt and linen shorts. “I don’t shake hands anymore, so please don’t take offense.”

  “Hey, I’m not worried about, you know. I know better than that.”

  A half-grin, perfectly devilish. “I could give a shit about infecting you. That’s harder to do than you think. I’m talking about myself. Germs. Can’t risk it. If you sneeze, this meeting is over and I go get vitamin shots, so let’s get through this quickly, all right?”

  “No problem. What I’m here for—”

  “You’re not opening any stores. You’re not Fred Cather, so stop with the cover story.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Ivana dropped the dime, didn’t she?

  Weedgardner dropped his chin to his chest, sighed. “Let’s cut to the chase. You want to be in the movies. I mean, look at you. What a fucking sweet body! But the face, the thick glasses, that’s why Hollywood doesn’t want you. You’d have to break in through indies like Phillip Seymour Hoffman, the fat guy.”

  Hopper shifted in his chair. Weedgardner was guessing, but if this was a faster way in than the business route, then Hopper would let it play out. “Exactly, that’s it.”

  Weedgardner shrugged. “Hey, I’m not a genius. It happens all the time. You’re not the first. Here, we can use you. Stand up, drop your pants.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Pull out your cock, take off your shirt. Strip for me, you animal.”

  Hopper unbuttoned a couple on his shirt, then stopped.

  “Look, this ain’t some gay come-on. You want to star in fuck films, you’ve got to show your assets. Haven’t you seen Boogie Nights?”

  He had, so he stripped. Shirt, shoes, pants, putting his wang on display while Weedgardner took a look, fingers rubbing his chin.

  The producer said, “That’s a big one. And the upper-body is good, too. Make-up can cover up the bruises. Good god, man, how’d you get so beat up?”

  “I work construction. You can get some damage.”

  Weedgardner pursed his lips, bobbed his head, said, “Makes sense. Explains why you’d want to give this a try. Why me? Others not interested? You get a reference?”

  “I looked up the company on the back of one of my brother’s DVD cases.” Hopper looked side to side, embarrassed when he said, “He gets into the weird stuff, like pregnant girls? Fat girls? So if they can make money, you know, then why not someone looks like me?”

  “Yes, yes, yes! Our whole business is built on thinking like that. We make stars out of plain janes and dorks. People think you’re all unattractive because that’s the culture, right? But sit them down in front of a flick, watch a mother-to-be at five months, huge breasts, bouncing on a cock, I swear, they’ll whip it out and start jacking like it’s Angelina Jolie all the sudden.”

  Hopper scratched his thigh. Weedgardner chirped the intercom. “Katherine, please come in here, babe, would you?”

  Before Hopper could object, the secretary was in the room. Hopper looked over his shoulder. Katherine was focused on his ass. When she was standing beside him at the desk, she stole a peek at his cock. “Yes sir?”

  Weedgardner pointed. “Fluff him, would you? Let’s see that thing at full mast.”

  Hopper returned to the hotel room to find Divinity sprawled on the bed in a sparkly red dress, low cut with thin straps. Head propped on three pillows, chin fat, and a remote control in her hand. Hopper had been gone for three hours.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “He didn’t believe I was a businessman.”

  “Me neither.”

  “He’s going to put me in one of his movies.”

  D sat up, curled her legs beneath her. “Get out of here. No.”

  “Shooting it tomorrow. He practically insisted.”

  “You’re going to do it?”

  He sat beside her, still a little sore. Katherine’s blowjob was a tease—she didn’t finish. Weedgardner made Hopper jerk off after the secretary had got him up. He hadn’t helped himself like that in a long time, usually no need, so he was too rough, got chaffed.

  He said, “It seems the fastest way to get into the organization and ask about Yasmin. You jealous? Want a role?”

  She punched his shoulder. “No way. I don’t want you to do it.”

  Hopper didn’t expect that reaction. She seemed nervous.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “This whole weekend, you know. I thought it would be just us. I didn’t expect that…that…thing of yours to erupt. I want you for myself.”

  “Really? You mean that?”

  “Oh, god.” D climbed off her haunches and marched a skittish path around the room, fingers rubbing her temples. “Don’t turn this into some Harlequin romance bullshit. I’m not going to get all mushy. Please promise me you won’t do it, okay? Stand him up on the offer. I’ll do a search tomorrow, see if I can get an address for the girl or something.”

  “Why all the sudden—”

  She got louder. “Why do I have to come out and say it? Then you’ll hold me to it, and then whatever magic was going on will be, like, dead. It’ll be so predictable after that.”

  “What’s wrong with telling me you love me? I say it to you all the time. It’s pretty fucking obvious by now how we feel, so I don’t get it.”

  “Just promise me you won’t do it, okay? Can we just drop the whole thing, go get a drink?”

  He’d never seen her in such a state. Hopper went to her and wrapped his arms around tightly and said, “If that’s what you want, I’ll find another way. I’ll go and tell him the truth about Yasmin, see if that’ll sway him. Is that better?”

  Tears on D’s cheeks soaked into Hopper’s shirt. She nodded against him and said, “Mm hm. Please.”

  “Yeah, sure, of course.” He wanted to say, I love you, D. I swear, you’re the only one I want. You’re the one I’d quit all the others for.

  And he wanted her to answer, I know, I know. I’m so sorry. I love you, baby. I haven’t felt like this about anyone else. I want you all for me.

  And he would tell her, once and for all, I’m yours.

  But he didn’t. A complete pussy, too scared to lose her by telling her how much he wanted her. Especially after this freak out.

  Absolute wimp. No balls. None. Zero balls.

  The best he could do was hold her and not tell her the truth—he was going to do the porn shoot. Any other way would raise warning signals, get the cops and the lawyers involved. He had to go and fuck a hot stranger in order to find this girl. There was no other way around it.

  A few minutes passed, they eased apart, and then Divinity wiped her tears away with her palm. Her make-up was streaking. “Geez, look at me. Now I have to redo it.”

>   “You’re gorgeous without that stuff. Wash it off.”

  “I need a little. I still get zits, you know.” She headed for the bathroom. “After that, I hope you’re done with business for today, because the rest of the night, we’re hitting the Strip.”

  Hopper turned to his reflection in the window, trying to look through it to the flashing lights outside. All that did was make him dizzy.

  It was a blast furnace, Las Vegas in June. Divinity was almost overdressed in a bikini at poolside, where Hopper left her with her laptop after swimming laps.

  He hated to lie to her, but he could tell that the research wasn’t going to net them any leads on Yasmin. Better to go and do the porn shoot. After that, he would be a one-woman man. Sister would understand. She’d probably try to twist his mind, but in the end she’d have to accept it.

  Not if she’s pregnant with your child.

  She probably wasn’t.

  How sure are you?

  She wouldn’t really have her brother’s baby, would she? If he understood nothing else about what drove her, Hopper knew he couldn’t predict what lengths she’d go to.

  Sweat and grease clouded Hopper’s glasses as he started down the block, so he took them off and cleaned them with the tail of his thin Cuban shirt. Everything was a blur. The previous night, also a blur, not because he was drunk. He stuck to Sprite mostly. It was all frantic and noisy, Divinity moving from table to table, casino to casino, on fast-forward. She was a flirt, but it felt different this time, like she was also quick to cuddle up to Hopper and give him a kiss, let everyone know they were solid. Maybe it was because they were in Vegas, away from the college friends and the routine. Hopper was praying that her behavior wouldn’t stay in Vegas after, though.

  He stopped in a nearby casino gift shop to buy a box of Extra Large Warm Sensation Trojans. If he had to wear them, he might as well bring the ones he knew would make it feel pretty good.

  It was an apartment building with a sixties retro thing going on, almost a motel. Four stories, one big block of Swingers-wannabes sadly past their prime. Hopper guessed the primary occupation of seventy percent of these guys was bartender. The other thirty—web designers who lied and told chicks they were “professional poker players.”

  He climbed the stairs to 208, where he’d been told to report. A few raps on the door, and it was opened by a guy who looked forty, maybe more, with slicked back dark hair. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, a well-defined build not quite up to Hopper’s girth. Oiled. He lifted an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, I was told—”

  The guy gave him a Where was my head? look and said, “Oh, right, they told me. Sorry about that.” Heel of palm to temple. “Get in here.”

  Hopper walked into the foyer, smelled incense and hand cream. He looked left and saw a small bar full of finger foods and some cans of energy drinks. There was a buzz in the place, maybe ten people in the living room setting up a couple of digital video cameras, much nicer than the ones Hopper dreamed of buying in electronics stores, having to settle for crappy 8mm palmhelds on his divorce gigs. A bright light on a tripod. All aimed at the couch. Propped against the doorframe of what probably led to the bedroom was a striking but too-thin woman, arms crossed, bored. She had long blond hair, straight and shiny like silk. Probably late thirties, her real body betraying the plastic surgery meant to keep age at bay. Hopper guessed this was Jessica Weedgardner. She held a clipboard, looked at it absently, then scanned the room for something to keep her occupied. Hopper did the trick.

  Shouted across the room, “You the new guy?”

  Hopper nodded and walked over to her. No handshake offered, no hugs, no smiles. Damned serious, and maybe envious, wishing she could keep doing the work she had altered herself so severely for. Wanting to feel sexy, not infected.

  Jessica looked him up and down, not asking him to get naked like her husband had. Then Hopper remembered—she was about to see him naked anyway.

  “Not bad. Vince has a good eye. You’re one that a girl might consider for a sympathy fuck at first, but once she gets a load of the muscles, well…” Something that might have been a smile flickered. “He said your cock is huge.”

  Hopper said, “I don’t know. I’ve never compared it to others.”

  “No, you wouldn’t.” It took a few more moments before, as usual with women, she started to melt a little in his presence. Reached out for his shoulder to hold steady. “Whoa. Now I get it. There’s something different about you.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  Her fingers ran along his shoulders, his throat, his chest. Then she jerked her hand away as if she’d gotten a shock.

  “I apologize. I shouldn’t have done that.” On the verge of tears. Hopper felt for her as he stood there, feeling a little awkward. Like a woman who’d finally found the perfect dish after years of searching, but she couldn’t swallow anymore. The perfect song, but she was going deaf. Jessica cleared her throat. “What’s in the bag?”

  Hopper brought out his box of condoms. “Mr. Weedgardner said I’d need a couple, since I’m new.”

  She took the box from his hand and read the description, a real grin on her face, her moment of joy for the day. Then she met his eyes. “Do you have any diseases?”

  Hopper didn’t know. He said, “I don’t know.” The hair on his arms rose. He’d never been asked that pointblank before. He’d only been tested once, and that was after being ass-raped by Clint, the mechanic. “I think not.”

  “Let me guess—none of the people you slept with have it, far as you know, or you would’ve heard.”

  “Pretty much.”

  She shook her head. “It’s more than us caring about our actors. It’s business. We could get shut down. I’ll have to schedule you a test. In the meantime, you can stay hard in a couple of these for a long time?”

  Hopper hadn’t used condoms in a long time, had forgotten how they felt. All he needed to do was be convincing for that one day, though. “Sure, I can stay up for hours. Let’s go.”

  She ripped the box open and handed him two. “We’ll probably work through all these, with the starts and stops and camera angles. You can fuck her ass, and she can suck Dino off. He’s been with us awhile, so we’ll get the money shot from him.

  It shouldn’t have, but it set Hopper off-balance for a moment. “You mean it’s a threesome?”

  Stone cold response from Jessica. “Is that a problem?”

  “No, no, just wasn’t sure of the details.”

  “And you do realize people will be watching, right? Can you be a professional about this? We’ve had plenty of newbies come in—frat boys, mid-life crisisers—all saying they were up to the challenge. Then they crumbled, literally, under the lights and the gaze. Pisses us off. This ain’t your fucking bedroom and your fucking video camera while you fuck your drunk fucking girlfriend, comprende?”

  Hopper crossed his arms and straightened his back. He could tell it flustered Jessica. She pulled at her collar, worked it like a fan. He said, “Take another whiff and you tell me.”

  “Oh, you’re going to do fine.”

  Inside, he was scared shitless. He’d never been in a threesome with another guy. Fucking as just a job? Maybe this actress wouldn’t be carried away by his spell. Maybe he’d finally have the addiction broken, the way a parent punishes a child by having him smoke the entire carton of cigarettes. Which was fine. Anything to help him enjoy monogamy, to explore something with Divinity he’d only grudgingly shared with his sister—intimacy. Bare naked intimacy.

  Hopper wanted to fight with Divinity, yell and scream, say things both would regret later, then apologize and pledge love. Make-up sex. They’d struggle to not cheat and take out their pain on each other. Grudge fucks, withholding, date nights, children, for God’s sakes, boredom, fantasy, rekindling, sinking, knowing more than you ever wanted to know about someone, beyond the way her insides felt when he shoved his dick in too far and too hard. He wanted to know her when she was going through meno
pause, wanted to bang her when she needed K-Y to lube up and he needed Cialis to firm up, until their sex drives vanished and all they had were memories that left both unfulfilled and ready to die because life no longer tickled their nervous systems the way it used to.

  That was preferable to what he was about to do.

  “Ready to meet her?” Jessica asked, before stepping back to rap her knuckles on the bedroom door. “Places, everyone.”

  The slick actor clapped his hand on Hopper’s back and said, “Follow her lead if you get lost. Keep the dirty talk simple, and remember to keep your hands moving. Don’t cover up her cooch, but finger her clit when she’s not doing it herself.”

  “Thanks.”

  The actress wandered in from the bedroom, laughing at some joke a cameraman told her. Hopper took her in—petite, straight hair, and obviously pregnant. Her maternity dress was old-fashioned, sort of a joke. She wore a wide bow in her hair. She sat on the couch as the lighting guys made adjustments, propped her bare feet on the coffee table, and wagged a finger at Dino and Hopper. “Now don’t be too rough. You know I’m getting farther along.”

  Dino said, “Yes, my love.”

  Hopper didn’t say anything. He was having a hard time looking at her, knowing he was about to shove himself into her ass.

  Looking at Yasmin.

  At least he’d found who he was searching for.

  The photos Hopper had seen were way off. Yasmin knew how to wear plenty of masks convincingly. He’d already had a glimpse of that from talking to Isaac the Cuckold and Ivana the Lioness, watching her in Figg’s cut-rate porno. Seeing her in the flesh, her eyes darkened with mascara, lips glossy and peach, made Hopper’s stomach sink. The girl in front of him wasn’t a victim, wasn’t even desperate. Yasmin was loving it. Loving the power she had—the star of this fuck flick—even if it was only an illusion. Or maybe it wasn’t an illusion. All the moralists complaining that porn degraded women could be really off-base.