XXX Shamus Page 14

  If anything, Hopper was surprised at how typical everyone there seemed to be—no leering, no double entendres, no piles of coke and a community straw. They talked about who they voted off on American Idol, dating gossip, where Yasmin found those sandals she had worn to work that day.

  She patted the seat beside her and asked Hopper to sit down, introduce himself.

  Yasmin shook his hand firmly. “I’m Eve, at least on screen. It’s my business name.”

  “Nice to meet you.” He almost added, Finally, but held his tongue. Hopper couldn’t remember the name he’d given Weedgardner. “I’m thinking of going with Axl. Axl Greece, like the country.”

  “That’s not bad. I haven’t heard it before. This your first time, then?” She pointed to the condom packets in his hand.

  “Yeah, sorry. I’m a little green.” Run. Don’t do what I think you’re going to do.

  “Hey, don’t apologize. I can’t afford to take chances, see?” Fingers spread on her bulging stomach. “Need to protect my future.”

  “Is it a boy or girl?”

  “You know, I decided I didn’t want to know. It’ll be a surprise for everybody except the doctor.” Proud as could be. She was letting a little of the New Orleans accent creep back into her voice as she grew more comfortable, maybe unconsciously reacting to Hopper’s.

  He said, “What about the father? One of these guys?”

  Her grin dropped and she said, “That’s rude. We don’t talk like that around here.”

  Hopper held up his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything.”

  Some production chatter behind the camera. Hopper thought they were almost ready. The voice in his head told him to get the hell out of there. He didn’t have to do the scene. All he had to do was wait in the parking lot until they were done, catch her on the way out and explain how Kristen had hired him. That was the way it should happen.

  You can’t fuck her and then tell her why you’re here.

  Yasmin/Eve said, “So, you know how this is going to go?”

  “A little bit.” Bad vibes.

  “They gave you a part with no lines, since they figure you’re nervous enough already. You’ll be Dino’s assistant, and you’re both here painting the nursery. I’ll sit here and read a magazine, then you’ll both come in and tell me you’re done for the day. I’ll be thankful, but a little sad. Dino will ask what’s wrong, and I’ll talk about how no one finds me sexy anymore because I’m pregnant. Then it’s, like, ‘What about your husband?’ and I’m like, ‘He says he’s working, but I can tell I don’t turn him on anymore.’ See, there’s another scene right before this one where he fucks his secretary.”

  Hopper nodded along and saw where the story was going. He was fascinated by how Yasmin really got into it.

  “So Dino will talk about how he thinks I’m hot, and then turn to you, ask if you agree. I’ll accuse you both of humoring me, then he’ll kiss me, and from there, yada yada, follow his lead, and when the time is right, you’ll do my ass. We’ll cut right before you have to put the condoms on, so don’t worry about it yet. I might jerk you some until then, while Dino goes down on me, but you’d better not come, you got it? Promise me.”

  “I promise.” For a moment, he forgot who she was, thinking of how Yasmin’s confidence made her more attractive than the image he’d carried in his mind until then.

  “Okay, so you and Dino get into costume and talk it over with the director. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

  He nodded. He knew. No control over it. Hopper would hate himself later.

  Oh yeah, this is as low as you’ve ever gone.

  The director was the husband in the other scene Yasmin mentioned, helming his first picture after a couple of years of acting. He explained to Hopper that they used multiple camera angles so they could edit it two ways—a less explicit version and a hardcore XXX.

  “The weaker stuff makes more money, actually. The sort of stuff couples rent together, not much heavier than softcore. So we anticipate that, try to get an angle where no one can see the actual penetration. That’s what makes the difference. And we need two climaxes—one fake where the guy seems to finish inside her, and one where he pulls out and blows his load on her stomach, her face. That’s the money shot.”

  The director was treating Hopper less like an actor, more like a student. Hard to take a “teacher” named “Jim Handy” seriously.

  “So if we have to cut, move some things around, move you around, don’t let it soften you up. Need to build your stamina.”

  It would take three hours to shoot what he was told would be a fifteen minute sex scene. Most porn movies worked that way—four or five fifteen minute sex scenes with story in between. And the story mattered. This one was about a man rediscovering the sexuality of his pregnant wife when he catches her fucking her obstetrician and his nurse.

  Then it started. A little more direction from Jim Handy, plus some pointers from Dino and Yasmin as Hopper lubed her ass, and the scene was underway. Yasmin’s acting wasn’t over-the-top, but it wasn’t great. It was enough to make Hopper think he was watching a soap opera instead of a porno. When he and Dino entered the scene in their paint-streaked overalls, she stood from the couch and worked through the dialogue, again without subtlety, until Hopper nodded when he was supposed to, ad libbing, “Not bad at all,” and the make-out session began.

  It went quickly, Dino heading right for the tits almost immediately, the dress falling to the floor, while Hopper kissed the back of Yasmin’s neck. He noticed she wore a G-string but no bra. Fetishists liked their preggies barefoot, of course, so as Dino leaned the girl onto the couch, Hopper rubbed her foot and leg, running his tongue from her toes to knee and back again. His subconscious voice had been gagged. Yasmin tasted greasy and sweaty under the hot lights, the earlier odors replaced by the sickly sweet lube smell.

  Next came the pussy eating, Dino heading down south and lapping his tongue loudly while Hopper fondled her breasts with his fingers and mouth. She unbuckled and unsnapped his costume until he was barechested. He worked his legs out of his jeans and was already on the rise.

  “Jesus Christ,” Yasmin whispered when she saw his dick. “I didn’t know you were black.”

  “I’m not.”

  Another low whsiper. “Oh, god, this is going to hurt like a motherfucker, isn’t it?”

  She wrapped her fingers around his shaft and slid up and down expertly, unlike the way her sister Kristen treated it like a rubber chew toy. Yasmin was a lover experienced beyond her years.

  Dino got a peek and said, “That thing’s real?”

  Hopper said, “Won’t the cameras pick up our talking?”

  “They’ll dub the stuff that stands out, leave in the rest. Show him, Eve.”

  Yasmin closed her eyes and reclined her head and made noises like she was preparing for take-off, the orgasm coming quickly. Her fingers worked rhythmically on Hopper’s cock and Dino’s head at the same time. It was unique, spectacular, and sent a chill through the private eye that got him from half-hard to rigid in two seconds flat.

  Dino was getting naked, too, rising from Yasmin’s crotch as she spread her legs wide and prepared for him, her bubble belly and full breasts sending out animal eroticism. She was growling.

  The director said, “So, Axl, usually this would be where she blows you, but if we’re not doing that, how about you stand aside while they do this one? Thanks.”

  He watched Dino fuck Yasmin, and as the sensation of her flesh on his wore off, he remembered why he had come here anyway, betraying Divinity’s trust and his own self-worth instead of relying on good old-fashioned investigation. He thought about the baby in her belly—fathered by Keith Sanchez, whose family was rich enough that he could pretend this little mistake never happened.

  The others:

  Isaac, sitting at home with his miserably strict father, his love for Yasmin the only escape he had until she took it away.

  Kristen lost her baby
sister long before she split town.

  The Pornographers Figg and Ivana seducing her trust, encouraging her to aim for sex stardom.

  Not to mention the teenage girls who knew the story and might aspire to be like Yasmin one day. The friends he spoke to weren’t much younger than the actress on the couch in front of him. When he kissed Janice, she barely knew what was going on, but Yasmin was a pro.

  She owed something to all of these people. If not an apology, than at least an explanation.

  Jim Handy cried, “Cut!” and then stepped over to Hopper. “We’ll be ready for you in a minute, so go ahead and get those condoms on.”

  Hopper shook himself out of his daze. Yasmin was adding some extra lube, telling Dino, “I don’t know if it’ll fit.”

  Dino crossed his arms. His dick was in-between soft and hard, a hair-trigger probably. It glistened with Yasmin’s juices.

  Hopper sat on the couch and waited until the cameras and lights were adjusted. Yasmin was casual about her nakedness, complaining to Jessica about her swelling feet and craving for beef jerky. “I mean the good stuff. Not Slim Jims.”

  The pregnant girl walked over to Hopper and turned away from him, ready to sit on his lap. She glanced over her shoulder. “You strong enough to carry my fat ass right now?”

  “Not a problem.” He slapped his thigh.

  She climbed onto the cushions in a crab stance, Hopper holding her waist as she grunted and giggled. Dino climbed up beside her, standing and throwing Hopper off-kilter. He reconfigured, struggled to breathe under the pressure Yasmin was putting on his chest.

  “You comfy back there?” she said.

  “More than comfy. Feels good.”

  Yasmin flicked Dino’s penis with her thumb and laughed. “You’re a little sad today, mister. Depressed?”

  Dino shrugged. “Just something with Rita is all. She doesn’t want the kids to visit next weekend.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Yeah.”

  The director said, “We’re rolling, so let’s get rockin’.”

  With that, Yasmin lowered herself onto Hopper’s lap, taking every inch, until she was holding on for dear life, tight enough to make Hopper grit his teeth, and loose enough to make him wonder what’s been up her ass before. A foot-long dildo? A walking stick?

  After some banging and shouting from her, she slowed and took Dino’s cock into her mouth, sealed her lips around and exaggerated the blowjob for the camera.

  Maybe it was the crowd or his embarrassment or his conscience murdering his lust or the fact that goddamnit he wanted to come really really badly, but Hopper chose that moment, in the craziness and cocksucking and assfucking and bright lights to whisper in Yasmin’s ear: “I know who you are. Your sister hired me to find you.”

  She craned her neck, Dino’s shaft slipping out and bouncing rigid against her cheek, a sharp hiss saying, “Excuse me?”

  “Your family misses you, Yasmin.”

  He was sure Dino hadn’t heard. It was between the two of them. Her fake moans and dirty schmoozing stopped cold, as did the bucking bronco ride. The director’s eyes went wide.

  Yasmin broke the silence, shouting out, “No, it’s too much. Ow ow ow, shit. This guy’s too big for me. Cut it.”

  Jim Handy waved his arms wildly and yelled, “Cut! Cut! Cut!” as the lights shut off, leaving blue streaks and spots that Hopper tried to blink away. Dino stepped off the couch and leaned close to Yasmin, a moment before the director and Jessica crowded around, all cooing and asking if she was okay. She slid off Hopper’s lap and pushed through them. “I need a few minutes, okay? Leave me alone.” Headed for the bedroom, slammed the door.

  Jessica stared unashamed at Hopper cock, which was shrinking fast, the condoms wrinkling as it deflated. “It’s a monster,” she said. “But Eve’s had bigger.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.” She walked off, tapped on the bedroom door, then slipped inside and closed it again.

  The crew busied themselves, chattered. Dino shrugged into a robe and helped himself to the fruit buffet. Hopper sat naked on the couch and crossed his legs, waiting for the next move. Would he be taking Yasmin back to New Orleans with him, or would he be beaten unconscious by the crew of a porn flick?

  The usual doubts circled his head, the same he’d had since exposing poor Cynthia’s hiding place not long before. How she tried to end her own life. If they don’t want to be found, am I still doing something good by finding them?

  Without the lights, the sweat on his flesh turned cold.

  Ten minutes passed before Jessica slipped out of the bedroom and crooked her finger at Hopper. He got up, put on the overalls, and went to her.

  “She wants to talk to you. In private.”

  “Is she okay?”

  Jessica lifted her shoulders and held them high. “Who knows? She won’t stop pacing. It might not have been your dick after all. Try to calm her down, okay? I’m sorry about all the drama on your first day. You’re doing a great job so far.”

  “It’s okay. Thanks.”

  She patted her palm on his cheek, kind of motherly. He waited for her to walk away before he gripped the doorknob and stepped into the room. Yasmin was still pacing, wearing a short silk robe that barely stretched to cover her stomach. She didn’t look angry, as Hopper expected her to, but instead was so scared she could barely catch her breath. When she spoke it came out like she was chilly.

  “So what does this mean? Are you here to arrest me?”

  He shook his head. “I’m a private eye.”

  “And you said Kristen sent you? She knew I was here?” Before Hopper could answer, the girl sat at the make-up mirror and rubbed her face with a wet cloth. She rubbed like it was itching. She babbled on. “She told you about what happened at her apartment. You found Burt. He knew.”

  Hopper sat on the bed, almost directly behind her. He met her eyes in the twisted reflection. “Pretty close. It wasn’t Kristen who told me at first. I had to dig up some more before she came clean. When she hired me, it was to find a much more inexperienced girl.”

  “But you knew I was pregnant.”

  “A mistake, an accident, we understand all that. I think she expected me to find out about the porn on my own, without any connection to her, then she could act shocked when I told her.”

  Yasmin sagged in her chair. “To preserve her own image? Like she has any room to turn her nose up. Where does she think I learned all about sex? Watching her make out with boys.”

  Same way I learned, Hopper thought. “People with problems do weird things. Your sister is concerned about you, and she’s just hoping you’re not dead.”

  “Oh yeah? You know what you just did, pal? It was rape. It was fucking rape. False pretenses. I want to throw up.”

  “I’m sorry. I hadn’t planned it that way. I didn’t know it was going to be you.”

  “And once you did? This the way you do business? Fucking unsuspecting women and then springing a surprise on them? Like I said, it’s rape.”

  Hopper’s stomach felt twisted like a dishrag. He wanted out of the room, out of the case.

  Hopper had to drop his eyes to the floor when he said, “Forget about me, my mistakes. Think about your family.”

  Yasmin said, “I hate my family. Treated me filthy when they found out. Even your precious Kristen.” She blew out a long breath. “I kinda like it out here, though. I feel wanted. I feel like an adult, I’ve got plenty of money, and I’m acting.”

  She turned in her chair and got Hopper’s attention with her thin lips pressed tightly, trying to be intimidating, failing.

  “Those people in the living room care about me. They gave me a place to stay and food to eat, and not one man made a move on me offscreen. I don’t have a problem with the sex. Hell, after the way I was raised, seeing Kristen get laid made me want it even more. I took on the first guy willing to do it. But I didn’t want all the relationship bullshit. I was a kid.
”

  Still are, Hopper thought. “Why porn?”

  “Because it means something. Better than lies, better than getting tied down with responsibility. That happens later, when you’ve sorted out what you get out of it. This is more honest. Sex is sex. We all want it.”

  “What pamphlet did you get this shit from? It never gets easy. It’s never something you can sort out. The best you can do is admit that you’re fucked no matter what.”

  “Aren’t you the optimist, then?”

  “The realist.”

  Yasmin sucked in a breath, muscles on her neck straining. “I knew you were going to say that. I knew it, knew it, knew it.” She grabbed a brush and began yanking it through her hair absently. “Realism has become a cliché.”

  There was a knock on the door, Jessica’s head poked in asking, “Are you two about ready to do this?”

  Yasmin hid her face.

  Hopper said, “We need a little longer. She might not be able to deal with me.”

  “What, your size?”

  “She’s sensitive up there right now.”

  Jessica left and the room was warm. Quiet except for Yasmin’s brushstrokes.

  Hopper crossed his arms. No way to save things now. Better to get out before things got nastier. “I’ll leave my hotel number. Call and we can meet later, talk it out.”

  Yasmin stopped brushing, turned to him and said, “You’re going to tell them you found me anyway.”

  He shook his head. It was easy this time, and he meant it when he said, “No. Not if you don’t want me to. As long as you know they’re looking for you, I’ve done my job.”

  “Not really. She paid you to bring me back.”

  Hopper frowned, remembering Kristen’s rough slippery “payment.” “I think she really paid me so she could feel like she was contributing somehow. A guilt thing.”

  A small nod. “Thank you.”

  “Call me, okay? I’ll be in town until tomorrow afternoon.”