Stringer
I find I'm dancing as I move around my tiny kitchen, headphones in and blasting unrepentantly crap pop music. Ham's got his head buried in a packet of marshmallows.
I can still see Milo's shocked face as I pinned the check from the second solo to his chest with a finger, along with a roll of cash tips and a packet of gum for his chronic halitosis. I mean, I'm diagnosing that myself but Mrs Milo must make a mean Tzatziki. So long nice Kurdish family, not while I'm alive. The $650 from 'Carter Gets Serviced' is on the fridge. The $200 bonus from warranting a profile and garnering 12 new memberships went into the fund for a new quilt to go with the new bed my friend Jess is sitting on, laptop open.
Her face is remarkably controlled for someone who's watching a co-worker get rimmed.
"Ham, piss off." I grab the candy away from him and he shakes his head, bristling with annoyance. "No don't look at me like that, you're going on a fucking diet," I say, hiding the packet where he can't reach. Old Mother Hubbard's cupboards are no longer bare. Big, aggressively colorful canisters of protein-mix line my shelves and the fridge is packed with greens. No asparagus.
Ham's not the only one starting a new regime.
The problem with a lack of sensitive female influence in the studio is that there's no buffer between what your director wants and what you look like. Apparently when I'm being compacted into a sweaty little ball my stomach doesn't look as firm as it should. Which I'm starting to resent Antony for -fucker won't stop plying me with osso bucco and key lime pie on break. Delicious delicious sabotage. Hunter put me onto a series of shakes and pills meant to lean me up but I'm still having trouble swallowing the gunk which is odd since I've swallowed worse and liked it.
I shoot a wary glance over at Jess. She's closed the laptop and is staring out the window, which I know for a fact means she's troubled because my view consists of a brick wall and drain. I yank my earphones out.
"So, what do you think?"
"The guy in it is old," is all she says, gaze fixed on the murky stain spreading from my neighbor's drain. She's pissed, but I knew she'd be pissed. The train ride back from work was the awkwardest in my life. The mood was so frosty I ended up walking from the subway to my building four steps behind her with my MP3 on.
She found out from a delighted Jenna who worked it out of Paul finally. I knew the second I saw her pinched face that our friendship was about to walk a shaky bridge.
I collapse onto the bed next to her. We're both in our greasy uniforms so I'll have to do a load of laundry before bed. I can't stand sleeping in that smell. "He's not that old. It's a gay thing, you wouldn't get it."
"Yeah. Maybe I don't."
I let out an annoyed breath. "Maybe you shouldn't be obsessed with gay men then."
"That's not fair," she says in a small voice.
"Yeah it isn't," I admit. "But seriously, Jess, this is just where life is taking me right now. It's not meant to be, you know, seedy."
"But it
is seedy, Carter," she says angrily, her eyes watering. Fuck. Jess always tears up when she gets angry, it really neuters my desire to take her down. "You think I don't want things too? I'm the same as the rest of you. I want to make it. I want my fucking records to sell and meet Lady Gaga…and look good and- and get laid. I'm the same."
"Uh, you're a girl," I say snidely.
And I don't want to meet Lady Gaga, I think.
"Thanks Carter yes, I do have a Big Scary Vagina (I cringe) and it gets me laid just fine so don't go thinking I want to
be you. God, you're all so- so
fucked up underneath aren't you. I thought you were different." She's rummaging through her purse angrily, looking for tissues. I have some in my nightstand but she's not going in there. I offer her an old shirt tucked down the side of the bed and she takes it, snuffling a laugh.
"I'm just doing it until I'm squared up with my rent," I say to placate her. It's true. Sort of. Square up the rent for the big-ass apartment I'm going to buy the second I have the funds.
"Fine. It's fine," she says with a determined sniff. "I overreacted I'm sorry. I was just upset because I saw your penis."
The bed shakes with my amused laughter. "I could show you it now?"
"God not you too. I've already seen Ziggy's more times than I can count." Her smile is shaky. "Don't do anything dangerous, please, Carter. Please?"
"How can I say no to that hideously blotchy face."
She slaps my stomach so hard I yelp. "I mean it. I don't want to have to identify you out of the Hudson because your parents don't give enough of a shit to come down."
"Hey, my mom would come," I say. "She'd never let her only son be buried with a piercing, it would be a disgrace."
-:-:-:-
Mia is painting Kitty's toes butter-yellow as I walk past.
"Hey girls."
Kitty says a perfunctory hello, eyes still glued to the newspaper she's reading, but Mia jumps up to hug me, yanking the pink pastry box out of my hands before returning to her spot on the love-seat, crouched between Kitty's dainty feet.
Kitty finally takes an interest, lowering her paper for a moment to peruse the selection of slightly wonky custard tarts. There was a little peanut-butter truffle in there too, but I got weak on the subway.
"Stay out here and eat them with us. It's madness in there anyway," Mia says with a coquettish bite of her tart. "I'll let you see my kitty-cat." Her hand goes sliding up Kitty's thigh, disappearing under her checkered school skirt and stroking for just a beat too long so that I flush uncomfortably.
"See,” I say, gesturing at their school uniforms, “this is why you're always in detention."
"Naw, I'm a good girl," Mia says playfully, going back to eating her tart with unladylike gusto.
"What are you in for, kid?" Kitty asks, eyes flicking above her paper. "I didn't know gay hipster was in such high demand."
I flip her the bird but I've already lost her attention to the stocks section. "Robert called me in to do another solo I think."
Before Kitty can respond, Angelica -Cream's receptionist- pokes her head around the corner. She looks flustered. "Alright girls. We need you on set. Mia don't try and eat Chen out, she's on her period. We got a sponge up there but it could geyser at any time."
Mia nods sulkily. I don't know how straights immerse themselves in the fantasy. Neither Mia nor Kitty pass as school girls. Mia's got a mass of black and pink extensions that just about outweigh her and a set of false eyelashes to match, and Kitty's got the full body of a 35 year old woman, her blouse straining at the buttons around her stomach and chest.
I've half a mind to follow them in. I've been offered before. Cream and Pop have a relaxed walk-in policy so long as you keep quiet and stay out of everyone's way.
I shrug the notion off. I'd hate to go through the trauma and confusion of realizing I was straight all of a sudden.
There's no one manning the desk when I head on through to Hard Pop's offices, though Daz's Starbucks is on the counter, still in its cardboard carrier, and a small vacuum has been hastily pushed to a corner of the room. Underneath the softly throbbing music of the montage screen I can hear the mumble of several male baritones and one higher pitched voice coming from Room Two.
I grew up in a fighting household. My hand's on the door ready to crack a peek before I even realize I've done it.
I almost get sucked into the room when the door comes swinging open with violent force. Hunter rears back, pink face perfectly slack with shock before it crumples into a scowl. His shoulder collides with mine as he passes, locking in place under my collarbone for just a moment too long to be accidental, so that I hunch around the sudden impact and he uses his lesser height to just about pivot me around, staring after his retreating form as he stomps out.
What the fuck just happened? I check to make sure he hasn't gotten anything on my new jacket. I'm not that much of a slob, just that it's brand spanking, and because, from experience, Hunter is usually covered in an assortment of fluids when he walks out of Room Two.
"Good timing," a bubbly voice says from behind me.
I've interrupted a meeting, that much is clear as I swivel around. The furniture for Set 1 has been crushed up along one partition to make room for a loose circle of chairs. My eyes pick out Sophia, Briar and his assistant crouched over a laptop in one corner, the pimply guy who I think is in lighting, Daz, Robert, and Holly from makeup.
And standing right in front of me is a short kid with his hair rolled over to one side at the front in an adorable retro way, eyelashes like you'd get on a horse, and the biggest set of come fuck me lips I've ever seen. I know instantly that this must be Tanner Reid.
He lifts one well-groomed eyebrow at my slack mouth. "You here for an appointment or just to stare at me?"
"God I'm hoping both."
He laughs breathily.
I hold my hand out. "You're Tanner right? Carter.”
He shakes it, looking confused. "You're…large?" He darts a look over his shoulder at the circle of chairs.
"That will do for today, thank you Tanner." Robert's dry voice comes from the circle of chairs, one of which he toes out with a squeak. "Carter, since you're here."
I take the invitation at a quick, awkward stumble before I'm able to embarrass myself anymore. Briar finally looks up from where he's explaining something to his apprentice to give me an inexplicable thumbs up. I return the gesture.
"Uh so, what's going on with Hunter?" I direct my question at Holly since she's the only one who doesn't look frustrated or busy.
She just shakes her head in a frustrated, 'don't ask me' way, makeup brush tapping furiously against one knee.
"He got cut from the project," Sophia says, pausing to take a sip of coffee from a styrofoam cup. "Well, no. He'd have to have been in it to get cut. Failed audition."
I look at the spread of paper and manilla folders on the floor in the centre. Most of them appear to be copies of a manuscript, confirmed when I lean over one close by - 'Scene 1'. I feel a wash of excitement flow down the back of my spine and fan out to my fingers.
"Is this for The Wildest Night?"
All the clicking and shuffling comes to a halt as seven heads jerk up to stare at me. Briar clears his throat.
"Robert?"
"Yes, yes," Robert says with a slightly chastised expression, "I'll tell him in a moment. Everyone else get back to the wardrobe situation, Carter follow me." He dumps his netbook on a chair and I follow him a little way away from the conference, just behind a partition where a food trestle has been set up.
The spread's got Daz written all over it. Blood red apples, polished and stacked alongside a bowl of grapes, chocolate covered pineapple lumps, cinnamon scrolls and glossy-looking apricot danishes. At one end is a pot of coffee next to a tea service that would make Jenna froth. I peel my eyes away from it with conscious effort.
"Ok so…what's happening? Am I in the movie?"
He nods.
I'm too happy to faint.
"Yes! Thank you! Thank you, Robert, you won't regret this!"
"Oh I will, but that's not your fault," he says, pinching the area of skin between his brows. "Ryan Wilde's agreed to have you on as his co-star. It's unprecedented but there you are."
I feel the floor underneath me tremble. "What…?
How? Hunter-"
"-Was never going to be a part of The Wildest Night. He's not what I imagined in the role."
"And he -Ryan Wilde- he
chose me?"
"You might say that." Robert's mouth quirks into a grimace. "I don't need to remind you, I expect your utmost professionalism on set. The crew all understand that they'll be working with an amateur but…"
"I get it."
"Right, well, I'll go tell Holly you're on board so she can figure out some wardrobe for you. We'll be doing your model shots first and then if that works out we'll run over the script with you."
"Today?"
Robert nods. "We're on a tight schedule because of some…casting difficulties. We hope to have the whole thing wrapped by Friday."
I stand in shocked delight as he walks away. Me. I'm going to be in a porno. I'm going to be famous.
Fuck famous, I'm going to be
rich.
The moment Robert disappears behind the partition I start stuffing my pockets full of pastries for Ham.
"You know that the craft service is for actors and crew only right?" a snide voice interrupts.
"Do
you know that I'm totally about to blow my load all over Ryan Wilde's face and therefore
am an actor?" I say, just as cattily, turning around to face the intruder.
Holy shit. Holy
shit! My breath hitches. The guy's a model. No, a god. He's my height, which is tall, but he wears it better; long legs, shoulders broad and sharp under dark-gray Hugo Boss. His wide mouth is slightly open with surprise under a fine, straight nose and the meanest set of ice-blues you've ever seen.
"You know I'm Ryan Wilde right-"
"-Figured it out just now," I say after a gulp, my heart sinking.
His expression is unimpressed.
"I am so, so sorry man. I'm Carter." I hold my hand out and am not surprised when he doesn't take it, frosty eyes still fixed on my face, bored. I'm not going to be able to hold this shit-eating grin much longer.
"I know who you are," he says flatly. His voice is slightly husky.
"Right, of course. You saw the service, right? Do you…are you hungry?"
His eyebrows -a shade darker than his wavy, almost-blond hair- pull down into a scowl. "What?"
"Uh, if you're hungry I can put some stuff…" I put a squashed-looking profiterole back on its tray, "…back." Please let this not really be happening to me.
His full, plush mouth twitches up into what might be considered a smile. "No thank you."
"Ok, that's cool."
"What is?"
"Huh?"
"What's cool?"
"Oh," I run a hand through my hair nervously. Can the guy make this any awkwarder? "You…not being hungry I guess."
He gives me an odd look before stepping forward and pouring himself a cup of coffee. The suit pulls in all the right places, and, I notice, he's wearing an enormous Tag Heuer, silver plates gleaming against his tan skin. It's a little incongruous against such a subdued suit, like a Bentley with fluffy dice. He sees me looking and stands up straight, shrugging his cuff back down to cover it.
"So," I say, just for something to say, "why did you pick me?"
"Pick you?"
"Yeah. Robert said you chose me for the role…?"
He shakes his head. "Robert chose you. I just said yes."
I'll take that.
"Oh good, you've met." It's Daz. He eyes the awkward space between us before shooting me a sympathetic smile. "Ryan, Robert wants to take your model shots now if you wouldn't mind. Carter, you can head on through to Set 3 too."
"Hold up," Holly says, appearing from around the partition. "Carter you're with me. We've got a bit of work to do."
I follow Holly out the door that leads straight to Makeup, stumbling backwards partway so that I can catch a glimpse of Ryan Wilde's ass headed for Set 3 with Daz trotting alongside him to keep up.
"Door, Carter," Holly says bluntly as I almost run into it.
"Fuck," I bellow once the door shuts behind us. Miami's sitting in front of one of the many light-framed mirrors, busy with his phone. He gives us a dirty look.
"I know," Holly sighs. "Let's get you trimmed."
I sink into one of the red-leather chairs and cock my head up to present my jaw.
"Cute. Pants off."
"Nu uh, I don't manscape."
"That's very rugged of you. Pants off."
"Aw c'mon. It's neat down there, I promise."
"Carter, don't be a little queen about it," she says, whipping a disposable razor and scissors out of her apron. "This is my job. Normally I'd let you do it yourself but we're a bit pressed for time and you're unlicensed."
"You have to have a license?"
Miami snorts, intent on his texting.
"Carter, it's standard procedure. The director wants you shaved."
"I beg to differ," Miami drawls from his chair. He fixes me with a condescending look. "Only time you need to shave is when your co-star demands it."
Holly shoots him a look. "David, can it."
I frown at my reflection in the mirror. The harsh lighting makes me look a bit pale and my eyebrows too starkly black. I push at my lip ring with my tongue. The guy in the mirror doesn't look half as uneasy as I feel.
"Fine," I say, getting to my feet and unbuckling with a gusty sigh. My belt makes a metallic noise as it uncoils on the tiles. Holly's eyes bulge.
"…Wow."
"Yeah. Welcome to the jungle, bitch."
-:-:-:-
"Carter, hurry up," I hear Robert say as I'm trying to sneak on set without anyone noticing.
Ryan is sitting on the edge of the bed -plush, golden quilt with a black headboard- getting something on his face touched up by a lighting guy, but his arctic eyes track me neutrally as I stumble onto the set with him. The Hugo Boss must be part of his costume because the only change is that they've tugged open the black shirt underneath to reveal a handspan of beautifully smooth flesh with just a suggestion of shadow between his pecs. Under the unforgiving set lights I can see that he actually has fine, blond stubble across his lip and on the sides of his jaw.
My own hands swipe nervously over the jeans and khaki-jacket I've been given. Nothing too different from what I'd normally wear but not a cut I'd pick for myself either. Everything's sort of tight. And I have no shirt.
"Alright let's take some shots. Get close."
I feel a tug on the jacket and trip sideways.
"Watch it."
"Sorry!"
One of the cameras flashes.
"Hey!"
"Ok, guys," Robert says from behind a gigantic Nikon. Sophia is moving around nearby, finger poised over shutter. "Chest to chest, Ryan, if you could, hand under Carter's chin, other hand- yes, yes like that."
I try not to flinch as Ryan's smooth fingers slide along my jaw, his thumb an almost non-pressure under my cheek. His other arms slides along my lower back, tugging me against him. I start begging my dick to behave -Holly with a razor, Holly with a razor.
Jenna with a razor.
We look at each other. His eyes are narrowed, uninterested. It's hard to look like I'm swooning despite the hard line of warmth all down my front. The supple leather interiors of our shoes are fitted together like jigsaw puzzle pieces. But still, those eyes are blank, like he's not even really there with me.
"Carter, try something else with the face."
I smile. "No." Pout. "No." Puppy-eyes?
"Just try looking like you're in love with me," Ryan says. Close up the husky tones roll over my lips. Spearmint gum, I think. He almost sounds amused.
I try a few more faces: staring into his eyes, at his mouth, at his collarbone, resting my head under his neck -which is awkward because I'm not quite short enough for it- smiling at the camera, looking down. Ryan doesn't move, his hand a hot brand against my back, his knees just brushing mine.
"That'll do guys," Robert says, in his own modest way that means he's satisfied. "Now if we could get some nudes."
I nod, reaching out a trembling hand for Ryan's belt.
"What are you doing?" he snaps, knuckles rapping mine. He starts to unbutton his own suit. Oh.
Oh.
Shaky with embarrassment, it takes a while to get my jeans down and my wrist gets stuck in the cuff of my jacket. By the time I'm finished the crew are all standing around, patiently waiting. I try not to look at the very naked Ryan Wilde next to me and instead focus on the sad stubble of bush left at my crotch. Somehow it looks denser trimmed. My dick's propped awkwardly, not hard but definitely interested in getting there.
They end up taking several photos of us in exactly the same positions as before, but this time I'm hyperaware of the lightly haired thigh pressing against mine, the press of his cock just under my hip. He's not hard.
"Ok boys. Now some for the harder edit. Either of you need a hand? Lube?"
Someone laughs. I shake my head but Ryan says something to Sophia -which seems odd since she's very obviously busy with her camera- who grabs him a small bottle of lubricant out of the Pink Box. I swallow.
It takes a while to get hard, that is, before I hear the rhythmic slapping noises Ryan's making next to me. He's felt comfortable enough to sit on the edge of the bed and I can hear the soft noises of the mattress creaking as well. It's all very chain reaction after that -southward rush of blood, pleasure-shocks up the backs of my legs. No one looks very interested in me jacking my wood which is a relief, but the effect of the lascivious, wet noises coming from behind me might soon develop into a very different sort of problem.
"Ready?" Robert asks without looking at me. Sophia is showing him something on her screen that might be responsible for his pleased grin.
"Yes," I hear Ryan say, so I nod.
"Ok. Ryan, if you could stand up and put your hands on your hips- yes, like that. And Carter…just kneel in front of him for now and look back at the camera. No this way."
I pause with my mouth in front of Ryan's junk, swallowing reflexively. He's got plenty of nest, I notice with an internal snarl, and a small, dark mole to one side, identical with the one under his left eye. He's barely hard and the unpleasant, clinical smell of the residual lubricant is making my mouth water and my stomach flip like a really twisted Pavlov's Dog.
I look up but Ryan's eyes are bored, fixed on some detail in the set partition that I can't see.
"Good, now look at the camera."
I obey. I can't see much beyond the sting of lights and the flashing cameras. Robert is just a dark shape, ducking out, adjusting. One of the dark blurs is Sophia.
"Ryan. You might want to try to stay interested."
Ryan mumbles something which might be, "Nothing here to interest me" -which makes my skin crawl and my face go red.
"Carter. If we could get a shot of you with your tongue on his penis."
I reach up to grab his shaft automatically, tonguing just underneath the crown to the snap-flash of cameras. He tastes…wrong. Underneath the lube there's something else. Something that overwhelms the natural musky tang that normally turns me on.
I want him to put his hand on my head, anything to show that he's with me in this, but he just continues to stand still as a statue, only the reluctant, slow hardening against my tongue proof that he's human.
Robert has me suck his cock for show. It's odd, trying not to use my tongue anymore than necessary, twisting my neck so that Sophia can get in there for close-ups. Ryan's cock twitches in my mouth but he's one step away from flaccid. It's uncomfortable and Holly darts in every now and then to dab at the saliva drooling out of one corner of my mouth while Robert has Ryan complete an elaborate set of poses -hands on his hips, hands above his head, showing off his arms, pinching one dusky-colored nipple. I think this might be the closest I've ever got to crying.
"Nearly done boys. Carter, if you could give the camera a stringer."
Ryan's dick slips out from between my lips with a wet noise. My tongue feels numb and heavy as I try to shape a question. "What?"
Hands under my jaw surprise me into looking up. It's the first time since the beginning of the shoot that he's even really looking at me. Making sure that he has my attention, he slides two pinched fingers down the length of his shaft, drawing up the residue of my saliva. Carefully, he parts the fingers in front of my face so that a thin, gossamer thread of spit slides out between them.
"From your mouth to my dick," he says softly. "A 'stringer'."
I look at his dick, kiss the head and feel him shift his weight -a reaction. It's small but it means something. Slowly I draw back, trying not to go cross eyed at the shiny rope of saliva attached at his flushed cock-head. The cameras flash and I watch it bead and snap
