Timberlake and I laughed. “They sense the big bills.”
“Yes,” Pitts said, shaking his head good-naturedly. “And the big spenders. Of course, I’d prefer to be admired for my looks, or my bravery, but in the absence of any of that, I’ll take affection any way I can get it.” He smiled a bit sheepishly, then blinked his eyes quickly, as if remembering something. “Oh, hey, good news. Rag Man’s thinking of joining us for a while.”
Timberlake’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”
Rag Man was a legend. He was our editor. None of us had ever met him, but we’d heard the stories. He lived in a musty basement in Pittsburgh with his wife and spent all his waking hours watching porn scenes with a jeweler’s eye for imperfection. He ate porn and shat out boob jobs. His labial knowledge dwarfed that of an average aficionado. He laughed cruelly at what we had accomplished thus far.
“Not at all. Is that a problem?”
“No . . . it’s just . . .” Timberlake’s voice trailed off miserably. “Why?”
“He wants to shoot a second camera during both of your scenes. That way, we’ll have more angles to use during edits.”
“But that’s crazy,” I said. “I get all the angles we need.”
“Maybe Rag Man has a different opinion,” Pitts said, reasonably.
‘You gotta understand,” I said firmly. “We sort of have a system going. I like to create an intimate atmosphere for my actors.”
“Yeah,” cried Timber, unhappily. “Another body could tip the scales in ways we can’t predict!”
“Take it easy, you two,” Pitts said, calmly. “Take it easy. Rag Man’s never been out to California before. He’s worked as my editor for a lot of years—he deserves something nice. He wants to be around porn. See it up close. Don’t you understand that?”
I sighed. I did. “Of course.”
“So it’s all right with you?”
“Yeah,” sighed Timberlake. “But tell him not to yell at me, okay?”
“Nobody’s yelling at anyone,” Pitts said. He sipped at his Lemon Drop and dropped another handful of bills onstage, quietly. The girls kept right on dancing. “People say things they don’t mean, sometimes.”
Though my parents and I weren’t exactly on the same page when it came to porno, I nevertheless felt the urge to apprise them of my newfound success. I knew I wouldn’t be able to turn them around on the whole issue, but with so much money coming in, I figured maybe we could find some common ground.
“Daddy?”
“Son of mine. So nice to hear your voice. How are you?”
“Great, Dad, but how are you? How’s the head-shrinking business?”
“Fine, just fine. I’ve found something that keeps me out of trouble. Not to mention my job assists me in staying up-to-date with the world around me. Did you know, for instance, that more and more people are using coffee shops as places to find life partners?”
“Is one of your clients a coffee shop owner?”
“I can’t tell you that, of course. You see, my boy, there’s a little thing called a confidentiality agreement that I enter into. You may have heard about it?”
“Barista?”
“It would be inappropriate for me to say.”
“Hey, come off it, you can tell me. Do you have some coffee ad-diet coming to lay on your couch every Wednesday and Friday? That sounds weird.”
“Enough. I assume you’re just being fractious.”
“Yes, David, I am just being fractious. Just totally fractious. You have me figured out.”
He sighed. “So. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”
“Nothin’ much,” I said nonchalantly. “Just that I’ll be sending you a check in the mail quite soon.”
“Is my birthday coming up so soon?” He laughed.
“No, Dad,” I scolded him. “Don’t you remember that grand that I borrowed from you way back?”
‘Yes, of course,” my dad said, his voice darkening. “For your . . . movies.”
“Exactly!” I said. “Well, I can finally afford to get it back to you! Isn’t that cool?”
“Very much so,” my dad said, guardedly. “Now, if you ever need any money, like, say, if you ever decided to go back to school, or something of that order, I want you to know you can always depend on me and your mother—”
‘You’re missing the whole point!” I said. “I’m calling to tell you I don’t need to borrow money from you anymore! I thought you’d be happy.”
“I am happy,” said my father. “Maybe.” He paused. “What are you doing for your money these days, if I may ask?”
“Same old, same old. You know.” I paused, then picked up the word and tossed it at him, like a tiny little bomb. “Porno.”
“Ugh,” he sighed. “I can’t quite reconcile myself to the knowledge that this is what you want to do with your'life.”
“I want to be an artist, Dad, and—”
‘Yes, yes,” he said irritably, “we went through this whole line of reasoning once before. Yet for some strange reason, I still haven’t been able to see what pom’s got to do with art.”
“That’s because you don’t have my vision,” I said smugly. “No one does.”
“Then tell me. For the love of God, tell me. What special things are you doing out there in California, that makes videos of people having sex become art?”
“I just ... I mean . . .” He had me there. “Well, right now I’m concentrating on making money. And believe me, I’m making it.”
“Perhaps your artistic goals have been proven slightly unrealistic?” said my father.
“Money’s where I’m at right now!” I bellowed. “But I’m still on my mission. You just wait, I’m going to put something together really soon.” -
“All right. Calm yourself. Don’t yell at me. I’m still your father.”
“I’ll speak how I darn well please,” I grumbled. “I’ve got a mind to send you a tape of my recent work, so you can screen it for your clients.”
“Don’t,” my dad said, calmly. “And I’m saying please.”
“Well, then why don’t you just trust me? I mean, Dad, seriously'. You wouldn’t believe the place that I’m living in. We have a huge pool, and a giant refrigerator, and the view? It’s spectacular.”
“California’s always been one of the more beautiful states,” my father said, patiently.
“Man, I don’t believe this! You should be proud of me! Hell, Dad, I made almost two grand this week! It’s the easiest money in the world!”
“How long do you need to do this?” he asked. “How long?”
I sighed, long and deep. I held the phone at arm’s length and looked at it. But then I brought it back. “Look. I really have no fucking clue, Dad. Maybe for a while. Maybe not.”
And then what? Got any plans? Teaching nursery school, perhaps?”
I laughed, in spite of myself. “I may have placed myself out of that job.”
“Perhaps.”
Can you just have faith in me, Dad? Can you trust the person I dm?”
“I do trust you. I love you. But sometimes I really wonder.”
“About what?”
“If you’re doing as well as you say you are.”
“Gee, thanks for the consult,” I said.
“Free of charge. Family rate.”
“Okay, deep pockets. I guess I won’t be sending you that check, then?”
“No, no,” he said, calmly. “By all means. Send the check.”
One night, as we were chilling at her apartment, drinking wine, lounging on her couch, I confessed something important to Liz.
“Sometimes I get sick of it.”
“Sick of what?” asked Liz.
“This whole thing.” I motioned at the air. “You know. The whole 'gangbang’ thing.”
“Really,” Liz said. Boy, if there were a sarcasm scale, she would have been right off it.
“Yes,” I said carefully. ‘ It’s goddamn stupid.”