“Ahh yes, the porn convention,” Matt said fondly. He had good memories of that weekend—memories that involved two grams of cocaine, an eighth of good greenbud, and four women. “I don’t remember him though. Is he one of the actors?”
“He is not,” she said. “He is the CEO of Essex Home Video, the largest distributer of adult films in North America. It is he that most of Mary Ann Cummings videos are sold to for distribution, either directly through me or through a middle man.”
“Okay,” he said. “And he wants to fuck you?”
“I’m sure he does,” she said, “but that’s not part of the deal. He wants me to fuck you.”
Matt raised his eyebrows. “Fuck me? On camera?”
“That’s right,” she said. “But it won’t be just an ordinary fuck scene or a standard fuck flick movie. It’ll be much more interesting than that.”
“Explain,” Matt said.
“He has this idea that we produce a little thirty or forty minute video of the two of us getting it on in your bedroom, a typical fuck session, unchoreographed—or, so it will appear on the surface anyway—shot using only a home video camera. No extra lighting, no director, no other people. The idea is for it look like just a home video that you and I filmed because we’re kinky-ass people who would do something like that.”
He nodded thoughtfully, wondering why they had not actually done something like that yet. “And he thinks people would want to buy that?” he asked. “I don’t get it. I mean, I put on a pretty good performance if I do say so myself...”
“That you do,” she agreed.
“But why would anyone want to pay money just to watch us bump uglies like we normally do?”
“It’s all in the presentation,” she said. “We present it as private tape, never intended for anyone but us to see, that was stolen from your house by ... oh ... say a contractor or a valet driver or something like that. We make a big deal about how we don’t want the video released to the public and then Essex suddenly announces they’ve purchased the video and are going to distribute it. We have a little fake media battle with them, maybe even go so far as to actually file a lawsuit or some shit like that, but then Essex releases the tape for sale anyway, charging twenty dollars a copy, no rentals at all.”
Matt scowled as he thought about this. “And you think this will make money?”
“I think people will snatch that tape up like there’s no tomorrow,” she said. “Especially if we’re able to hype it up sufficiently before it’s even released and we manage to convey the feeling that, once it is released, we might get some judge to halt sales of it at any time.”
“This all sounds kind of sleazy,” he said.
She raised her eyebrows at him. “Sleaziness from the porn industry?” she asked. “Who would’ve thought?”
“Yeah, I guess,” he said. “What would be in it for you? For me?”
“Fifty percent royalties on all copies sold, evenly distributed between you and I. Essex handles all the costs of production and distribution.”
“Fifty percent of wholesale rate or retail rate?” he asked.
“Wholesale,” she said. “That’s nine dollars per tape.”
“Which means I would get two and a quarter per copy,” he said. “How many copies do you think would sell?”
“I don’t think that half a million would be an unreasonable guess,” she said.
“Hmm,” he said, pondering. “A million plus for just boning you like I always do. Not a bad payoff.”
“And that’s just the monetary factor,” Kim said. “The publicity angle is pretty sweet too. Nothing like having a sex tape of you floating around to keep you in the public consciousness, especially since this will all go down right about the time your album will be released.”
“Yeah, I could see how that might pick up a few sales for me,” he said. “It sounds like you’re in favor of this deal?”
“I’m leaning heavily in favor of it,” she said. “It’s something new in the industry, something that might become a trend. It might be fun to get in on the ground floor, to be the first.”
He thought it over for a few more seconds and then nodded. “All right,” he said. “Let’s fuckin’ do it.”
“Are you sure, Mattie?” she asked.
“I’m sure,” he said, already pondering what moves he was going to make. Maybe start off with some doggy style and then work up to a little reverse cowgirl? “When can we start?”
“Uh ... well, we still have to meet with Rod and his people, come to terms with the official agreement, get our lawyers involved, work out all the little details, all that kind of shit.”
“Oh,” he said, disappointed. He had kind of been hoping she had the camera upstairs and was ready to get started right now. “How long will that take?”
“A month or so,” she said. “Once everything is finalized and the paperwork is signed, we’ll submit a minimum of four takes for consideration, each one at least forty minutes in length.”
“Four?” he asked.
“A basic principal of photography is that it takes at least four exposures of any given subject to produce one good shot.”
“Oh,” he said again. This was now starting to sound like turning one of his favorite activities into a chore. Oh well ... a million bones spoke volumes. “Well ... how about we go up and get in some practice then? Start gearing up for the show?”
She nodded. “Let me tell Rod that you’re in and then I’ll meet you upstairs.”
“All right,” he said. “But don’t take too long or I’ll get started without you.”
“You sure I can’t get you a drink?” Obie asked. “A little scotch on the rocks? A glass of wine, maybe?”
“Uh ... I’m sure,” Pauline told him, watching with a little bit of envy as he filled a glass with ice and dumped five fingers of Crown Royal on top of it. It was her bar in her house—Obie no longer bothered staying in a hotel when he was in town—full of booze that she had paid for, yet it was off limits to her now.
“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug. “What’s the deal with you anyway? I haven’t seen you have a drink all week. You givin’ up the sauce, hon?”
“For a little while,” she said softly.
He looked at her with a scowl. “What brought this on?” he asked. “You having some health problems?”
“In a manner of speaking,” she said. “Look, why don’t you grab a seat, Obie. There’s something I need to tell you.”
He took a long, slow drink of his Crown and then poured a little more on top, refilling it. He then walked slowly over to the couch and sat down next to her. “What is it, hon?” he asked. “Is it your liver?”
She shook her head. “It’s not my liver,” she told him.
“Then why else would you have to give up the hooch?” he asked. “I don’t get it. You don’t drink nearly as much as I do. You’re not thinking you’re an alky or some shit like that, are you?”
“No, I’m not thinking I’m an alky,” she said. “I ... well ... I have a little clump of rapidly replicating cells inside of me—that’s how the doctor I saw termed it.”
“Rapidly replicating cells?” Obie asked. His expression darkened. “Are you talkin’ cancer here, hon?”
She shook her head. “No, not cancer,” she told him. She took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant, Obie.”
His face paled just the slightest bit. His hand gripped his glass a little harder, causing his knuckles to turn white. He blinked slowly, took a moment to compose himself, and then said: “Pregnant? As in, with child?”
“That’s the only kind I know about,” she said.
Another deep breath. “You have something else you need to tell me, darlin’?” he asked. “I know we never spelled out the terms of this little thing we got going, but I always kind of assumed that there was an unspoken agreement about us not doing things with anyone else.”
“I have nothing else to tell you, Obie,” she said. “I haven’t been with anyone else since the first night we hooked up—actually, it was at least six weeks before that since I was in the middle of a dry spell that first time.” She chuckled a little. “Why do you think I let you in so easily?”