Quirks & Kinks (6 page)

Um . . . what?

His eyebrows popped upward just once, but it was enough to confirm the dishonorable intentions his words suggested.

Well.

I should have smoked another fucking cigarette this morning. That much was becoming clear.

I wasn’t normally opposed to some brutal dirty talk, but this guy was a fucking stranger.
And
my coworker. Him saying that to me at this stage in the game was about as appropriate as wearing nothing but a ball sling to the Oscars.

“Excuse me?” I asked, impressed I managed to say anything at all. I’d never had any stranger tell me any part of my body was something he’d like to snack on. I mean, I’d had a few scenarios run through my fantasies, but trust me, none of them went like this.

“Your tits,” he said slowly—the jackass—as though maybe I hadn’t
heard
him.

Right. Because that was the problem.

He raised one too-well manicured eyebrow. “Look fucking edible.”

Don’t kick him in the balls.
Do not kick him in the balls.

“You know that I’m not a whore, right? That I’m an actor?” I lowered my voice, speaking through tightly clenched teeth. “No matter the subject matter, this is a professional setting, and speaking to me like that is in no way appropriate.”

“You’re an uptight bitch,” he murmured fake-thoughtfully, rubbing the line of his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Got it.”

Anger flooded my veins, but before I could cold clock the asshole, the director called for our attention.

“Listen up, people!”

As everyone huddled up closer, I made sure to shuffle my feet
away
from Ryder.

“Big show today. As the first show, this is the one we have to make count. This is the one that the network will use to determine whether or not we have jobs for more than a week.”

Sandy blond hair sat ruffled atop his head and peppered with gray, and a week’s worth of stubble coated the skin of his cheeks. His nose was slightly crooked, his clothes equally askew, but he had a kindness in his eyes. He seemed kind of like a good-natured but out-of-touch-with-cool dad, from his slightly rounded belly all the way down to the white sneakers on his feet.

Turning directly to me, he introduced himself, shoving one meaty hand out for a shake. “Easie, I’m Howie. I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to meet before now. But I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Grrreeaaat.

My thoughts must have been painted all over my face because a smirk settled onto his. “
Good
things.”

At the skeptical rise of my brow, he burst out laughing. Murmurs took hold around us as people tried to figure out what was going on, but I didn’t let it bother me. Instead, I focused on his genuine smile and began to relax for the first time today. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a terrible experience after all. Maybe there
was
opportunity to really enjoy myself on this show.

“Mike, Abby,” he called, turning to address the real life clown-sexers, “I want to thank you for being here and letting us do a piece on your story.”

They both nodded bashfully, surprisingly shy and normal looking compared to what I expected. Though, I guess the whole thing about kinks is that people normally keep them a secret.

“We’re going to be taking a few liberties and dramatizing a few things for TV, but if you have any problems or concerns, don’t hesitate to come tell me.” Abby and Mike seemed grateful for his consideration, and I was impressed by it. Most directors don’t check their egos at the door, and by offering to compromise his vision of the show for Mike and Abby, that’s exactly what Howie was doing.

Addressing everyone again, he continued, “As for the rest of you, I’m going to need you to bring your all today. I expect concise concession to direction and an open mind and attitude. You’re not here for
you,
you’re here for
us.
Understand that or leave, but whatever decision you make, do it now.”

People looked at one another, but no one said a word or made a move to leave. Obviously, despite Howie’s illusion of a choice, there was really only one decision to be made.

“Great!” he cheered, surreptitiously congratulating us all on not being ginormous idiots.

“It’s going to be a long day, so settle in. Ryder, Easie, get ready for the opening, maybe have a little chat about specifics and timing now while we get the lighting right. Go ahead and stand on your marks.”

After a brief pause of unpreparedness, everyone scattered, moving to do their jobs and taking their positions behind specific equipment. Ryder and I both moved to our marks, and I made a promise to let his earlier words go and start over. Howie was right. Today was going to be a long day, and stressing over Ryder’s brash come-ons would only make it feel longer.

“Let me guess,” Ryder jeered before I could say one word. “You want to talk the whole thing out, plan our every move.”

God, this guy was a
dick.
And just because I didn’t immediately invite him to wrap my tits around his two inch cock, he was under the impression that I was some kind of uptight shrew.

Fine.

“Nope.”

“No?”

“
No,
” I confirmed with emphasis. “I’m good. More than ready to do this.”

Looking down at the script in my hands, I studied the talking points, familiarizing myself and preparing. I pointedly avoided any and all contact with the Micropenis, and instead, used my time to line up my thoughts and improvisational ideas. If he couldn’t keep up, that’d be all the better. And if he could, well, I guess that’d be good for the show.

Blue, green, red, and orange lights strobed and adjusted to produce a glow on my skin, and after several minutes of moving around, finally settled into what I guessed was the optimal filming position.

Lingering techies cleared the set, and Howie’s eyes came to his stars. “Ready?”

“Yes, sir,” I agreed respectfully with a nod, eliciting a snort of sorts from my new arch nemesis.

“Good,” Howie remarked, largely ignoring the snort but giving Ryder a meaningful look. “In the final cut, this will follow the intro music and graphics and is meant to not only introduce viewers to you, but to the specific episode. As much as this show is about the circumstances, or quirks, if you will, it’s going to be more about the two of you. You’ll be there telling every story, so it’s important the viewers connect with each of you as individuals.” He chuckled a little. “In other words, be charming.”

With one last smile, he moved to his place behind the playback screen and signaled the beginning of the end. This was it. The first episode. The first roll of the camera.

The first day of the rest of my life.

“Come on, Sweetheart. I know the situation isn’t ideal, but you have to push,” Mike (Ryder) coached me for effect.

We’d been going at this for hours—pretending to have sex, making weird clown giggles, and talking to Mike and Abby about what had actually gone down the day their daughter was born—and I had officially reached my Ryder-tolerating limit.

“What makes you think pushing a miniature human out of my vagina without the help of drugs or the expertise of a doctor isn’t ideal, Mike?” I asked sarcastically as I pushed the sweat-soaked hair off of my face leaving behind some rusty dust from the bed of the old pickup I was weighing down.

“Don’t worry, Abby. A woman’s body is made to do this. It’s natural.”

“Fuck. You,” I said through gritted teeth, which if you asked me, added to the realism of the situation and might have even made it more relatable for viewers.

I knew we were taking a few liberties and ad libbing a bit compared to the conversation that had played out between the real Mike and Abby, but Jesus, I was fed up with the jerk.

“Cut!”

Apparently, the director didn’t appreciate the value of viewer empathy like I did.

“While telling Mike to fuck off might be the way of reality-”

So he
did
appreciate it.

“-the network won’t allow it. So clean it up, please.”

Ugh, fine.

Abby was a patient woman, spending her years going to great lengths to please her man. But she’d admitted to me, that night, in the middle of nowhere and in the midst of labor, she didn’t exactly keep her cool. She just didn’t do it with the same amount of vulgarity as I did.

“You think you can manage being a little gentler with my fingers?” Ryder demanded callously. “It feels like you’re going to snap them off.”

“Yeah, well, if I were Abby and you were Mike, your fingers wouldn’t be the only thing I’d be snapping off.”

“You just want to touch me,” he taunted ignorantly, reminding me of the way he’d been touching me without reason and without my permission all freaking day long.

The saddest part of my psyche couldn’t accept the fact that he probably had women crawling all over him. The pretty package of his exterior did a good job of hiding the stupid. At least until he opened his mouth.

“I swear on my future ability to bear children that I would rather bathe in a vat of acid than have any sexual contact with you.”

He opened his mouth to spew some hate filled cut down, but Howie beat him to the punch.

“Action!”

Blocking out the less than appealing surroundings, company, and paraphernalia, I tunneled deep into myself and got that shit done. By some miracle, the determination I had to finish that take translated into the determination Abby had to deliver that baby.

Clown-sex day from hell: over.

“I’M EASIE REYNOLDS, AND
you’re watching Quirks and Kinks,”
the TV version of me trilled obnoxiously from the far corner of my living room as the first episode aired five days later.

Hand resting protectively over my eyes, I moaned and cringed all at once. “Ughhh,
God,
I sound freaking ridiculous.”

Ashley’s chuckle was an interesting mix of disbelieving and amused. “Um, all you’ve done is introduce yourself. You haven’t even had the chance to sound like an idiot yet.”

“Give it time.”

Her laughter rolled all the way out of her body and into mine, practically filling the space with her mood. “Geez. Maybe you should go outside and smoke or something. You’re awfully critical for so early on.”

“Good idea. But after the show. I don’t want to miss anything.”

If she laughed at me one more time, I was pretty sure I could charge her an admission fee for the comedy show tonight.

“You’re not even watching. You have your hands over your eyes!”

“I’m listen-watching,” I justified.

“You’re crazy.”

“I know,” I admitted, squeezing my eyes so tight that my cheeks puffed and pushed up into them. “It’s just scary.”

And for most of the filming of the show, all I was feeling was a slow burning fury at my co-star. I didn’t think that was really the quality of chemistry Howie was looking to achieve. I’d had major
fake
love for Ryder and his big obnoxious clown shoes. I was just hoping I’d pretended convincingly enough.

“Today we follow the story of Mike and Abby, and how their long-time interest in wearing clown paraphernalia during intercourse took an unexpected turn,”
my voice explained.

“Good job keeping a straight face during that one,” Ashley commented.

The screen cut to a silhouette shot of Mike just as I uncovered my eyes.
“There’s something euphoric about combining two positively emotional experiences.”

Editing perfectly transitioned to a darkened image of Abby, just as her voice called over the airwaves.
“I don’t get pleasure from the clothes or personas like Mike does, but it didn’t take me long to realize I got gratification from his delight.”

“Aww, that’s kind of sweet in a freaky way,” Ashley noted.

“I know.” It was. I’d been slightly mystified by my growing understanding (so unlike me) the more I’d talked to Abby during filming. She wasn’t into clowns.
Not at all.
But she
was
into Mike. And love like that was something I couldn’t help but get behind.

“Can you imagine the day he dropped this bomb years ago?” Ashley asked, sinking into the arm chair, sitting sideways, and throwing her legs over the arm.