“Bill’s a buddy of mine from way back when,” Pitts said. “He’s been teaching English to junior high kids. But he hated that. Right, Bill?”
“Hated it,” Billy said, seriously.
“I’ve been thinking, Bill might make a pretty decent pornographer. I’d like for you to train him.”
Pitts couldn’t resist staring at me balefully for a moment. To him, it was just plain strange that I wanted to leave. Looking back, I’m pretty sure he didn’t feel rejected, or even judged. More, it confounded him, to see someone capable pass up a perfectly good opportunity to make real money.
“When Billy can do your job perfectly,” Pitts finished, “then you can go.”
I had little choice but to agree. Straightaway, I began to put the big man through the paces. There wasn’t much to the sex business, was there? Just like anything else, it was all in the details.
“Don’t bother Timberlake when he’s whacking off in his room,” I instructed Billy, to begin. “He likes to do it every night between about ten and eleven. It’s his way of relaxing and preparing for the labors of the next day.”
We strode through the hallways of the big house, our steps heavy and loud in the quiet manor. I watched Billy’s big boots tread across carpets, making soft indentations into expensive fabrics.
“Avoid booking Wesley Pipes and Tony Eveready for the same job,” I suggested. “Both of them talk so much, there’s no room to hear what the girl has to say.”
Watson nodded seriously. He was jotting notes in a small spiralbound notebook as quickly as his huge fingers would allow him.
“Before every shoot, make sure you’ve got your camera charged,” I said. “A pornographer without a working camera is like a soldier with no bullets. Double-check that you’ve got lube, towels, douches, and baby wipes in great supply, too. That should be your mantra: Lube, lube, lube.”
“Lube, lube, lube,” Watson chanted. A small smile was dawning on his mug. “Hey, this is fun.”
“You’re damn right, Bill. It is. Now: make sure you know exactly how much you’re paying the girl. You don’t want to get caught midscene in a bargaining duel. That’ll kill a boner. Never kill a boner.”
“I won’t, Sam. I promise.”
I sighed regally. “This isn’t a difficult job. Follow your common sense, and you’ll be fine. Drink a little coffee before a shoot, so you’ll be alert, but not too much. Then you’ll jabber too much. Remember: no one cares about you. All we care about is the girl. Rag Man will edit your voice out in a heartbeat, and he’ll be pissed about the extra work it’ll take him.”
“Rag Man?” Billy said. “The Rag Man?”
“The genius himself,” I snapped. “Pitts hasn’t given you a face-to-face yet, eh? Well, I’ll introduce you shortly. Please understand, you’re very, very lucky to work with him right out of the box. In fact, you’re incredibly fortunate to start at this level, now that I think about it. You know how I started out, my friend? You know what my introduction to porn was? Wanking myself off with a banana peel and then trying to make fifteen bucks off it on eBay.”
“Sounds disgusting,” Billy said, awed.
“That’s putting it mildly. Now. Let’s talk weed.”
“Sure.”
“All these actors smoke it, and they’re going to offer it to you. Go ahead and take a little bit to be polite, and so things look interesting to you. But not too interesting. Don’t smoke so much that you try to get arty. No one wants a ten-minute static shot of the side of someone’s leg.”
“That would be bad porn,” Billy agreed.
“It would be horrible porn,” said Timberlake, who joined us. “Great to meet you. I’m Timberlake. Welcome to the league. Where tig оГ bitties and tales of wonder abound.”
“I’m teaching Bill about porn, Will.”
“This should be amusing.”
“Make sure everyone respects you, Bill,” I said. “No one respects this character. People walk all over Timberlake, and he can’t do a damn thing about it.”
“He’s joking, of course,” Timberlake said. “The guys adore me.”
“Of course, I’m joking,” I said. “I admit, everyone likes Timberlake. He manages to put his employees at ease. So compliment your people once in a while. Let ’em know you care. After all, you’re only as good as your actors. If you can’t get them to produce, then you’re no good. You’re washed up before you start.”
“Should ... an actress be tipped?” Billy asked, tremulously.
“Hardly,” Timberlake laughed. “Sam? You want to handle this one, or should I?”
“If you’re doing an under-three-hundred-dollars shoot, then common courtesy dictates you bump it up fifty bucks,” I advised. “It’s the gentlemanly way to go. But if she’s up there at a thousand or more, an extra hundred is meaningless to everyone involved.”
“A small gift will make a greater impact,” Timberlake explained.
“A book, a T-shirt. Some sort of memento. A personal touch.”
We ceased moving. We stood together, our arms folded, in the living room. Divorced from the usual everyday chaos, the quiet of the house impressed me. It was a house not accustomed to silence.
“Do you guys get...” Billy lowered his voice to a whisper. “Well, do you guys get laid all the time?”
Timberlake and I looked at each other. “This guy’s an animal,” I said, finally, hooking my thumb at the ’Lake. “All the ladies want to touch his jock.”
“But I never take ’em up on it,” Timber said. “I’m in love.”
“I sure hope I get laid once or twice,” Billy confessed.
“Oh, you will. But do it the right way. No rubbing up on the talent before a shoot,” I said. “That’s sleazy. Word gets around. You don’t want to be known as that guy.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t,” Billy said hurriedly.
“Afterwards is fine,” Timberlake added. “Ask to see their boobies? Totally kosher. But make sure that you’ve already given them the check. That way, they don’t feel like they owe anything to you.”
“It’s not complicated, once you get the hang of it,” I said to Billy. I clapped him once on the incredibly solid shoulder. His flesh felt like it was made of a sandbag. “You can do this.”
Billy Watson breathed in deep and careful. “I can’t wait to start.” I called my father, to discuss the new frontier, the open road.
“David,” I said, “you’re just not going to believe what I’ve come up with now.”
“Let me sit down,” he grumbled.
“Ever heard of a penile implant? I’m seriously considering getting one. Very minor operation, from what I hear . . .”
“For the love of God. Ellen, get in here! Your son’s completely lost it!”
“Kidding, Dad,” I said. “My Johnson’s fine. Actually, it’s quite large.”
“What a terrible thing to joke about,” he groused. “Ellen. Go away. Off the phone. Crisis averted.”
“No,” I said. “Actually, I’m moving on. Leaving porno.”
“Excellent,” my dad said, still breathing hard. “Finally, you’ve come to your senses.”
“Yep, I’m ready to become a contributing member of society.”
He coughed, perturbed, probably suspecting I was still joking.
“Would you mind me asking what led you to this grand decision?”
“I’m just done with it, I guess.”
“You should have been done with it years ago,” he grumbled.
“Never mind. What does your future hold? School, perhaps?”
“I’m thinking more in terms of Thailand,” I said, relishing the smack of the word in my mouth. “From what I understand, there’s a fasting program going on there. Deep in the jungle, centered around eliminating waste from your digestive tract by mechanical means. Quite expensive, of course, but very cutting-edge .. .”
“Ellen,” called my dad, “I’m sorry, dear, I need you back. I’m going to faint, so you’ll have to talk to your son.”