Surprise (7 page)

 

I was itching for the inbox before they left the house the next morning, but I kept my composure and read the newspaper's classifieds. No ads for “wild fantasies cumming true.”

“Good luck.” My wife kissed me. “Let me know, all right?”

“Absolutely.”

“See you, daddy. Good lu-uck.” The girls giggled and all three went out the door. Dirty doesn't penetrate the surface of how I felt.

My inbox had a new message:

Thank you for your interest in our male actor position. At this point, we require a body shot in order to assure your interest, and to assess ours. Please send a fully nude jpeg or gif. Head/face not required. Also note that we reserve the right upon face-to-face meeting to challenge the authenticity of the image sent. If the image and the individual are not deemed to be the same, then the individual incurs all expenses. Once you have submitted your image you will be contacted shortly. Thank you for your interest in Hot Line Entertainment.

I backed away and re-read the line about incurring expenses. That simply wasn't an option. I almost deleted the email. Almost. It sounded professional, not like some scam. Hell, if I was honest, then there was no issue. If they didn't like what they saw then this would go no further. And I didn't have to include my face.

I was naked with the camera in hand a minute later. I didn't stop to think. I just snapped three shots and then uploaded. I chose the best, attached it to my reply and clicked send. I quickly deleted the images from the camera and computer.

Then the realization hit. What had I done? What if they used the pictures on some web site and I never heard from them again? Could someone still recognize me? I paced and watched the news—more of the same tragedy, more ending up in my shoes. How had we gone from prosperity to poverty so fast? I turned off the television and hopped back online. I searched for careers with a future, for jobs like the one I had. The ads were all stale and unpromising, but my inbox had a new message:

Your image and willingness match our need. However, we want to be transparent about the nature of the work. Please view the following clips of our content via the links below. If you are still interested please respond within twenty-four hours. We look forward to working with you.

I clicked one of the links provided and a porn site popped up. A black box swirled while the content loaded and then the footage began, a guy on a couch pounding away. He was thin with ropy muscles, but his face was not visible. He moaned and finished and the screen cut to another—this one with plate-like abs who projected his batch in an arc over the bedspread.

I was repulsed but not offended. I had not been lied to. This was exactly the offer detailed. It was more on the up-and-up than my former sales history. I didn't watch any more of the footage. Instead, I responded to the email.

I am interested. Please send me the full details.

They did, complete with a contact number. It was mid-afternoon, just before I had to retrieve the girls from school. I sat at my desk and dialed the number.

“Hot Line Entertainment. Derek speaking.”

My mind whistled it went so empty.

“Hello? Hello? Anyone there?”

“Yes.” I cleared my throat. “I'm, uh, I'm calling about an acting position.”

“Excellent!” Derek's voice was authentic charm, no veneer. “I take it we've corresponded. With whom am I speaking?”

He reminded me of my former self. The one who called on clients and inflated their egos. “This is, uh, this is Todd Whitman.”

A mouse clicked in the background. “Whitman, Whitman…ah, yes, Mr. Whitman. Very nice picture, indeed.”

A flush settled over me and I smiled like some girl being told she was cute for the first time. “Really? Thanks.”

“No. Thank
you
. Were you interested in setting up an appointment for this week?”

“Uh, well, I guess there's no time like the present.”

“That's the spirit.” Derek clicked and typed. “I could have you out here for Thursday.”

Out where?
danced on my tongue, but I was overwhelmed by the blood draining from my head. I rested the phone in my palm as the room listed. This was moving too fast. Couldn't I just find something regular? A normal job? But even as I waffled I knew. I'd sent hundreds of emails, had called on dozens of leads, and what did I have to show for my effort? A dwindling savings account and mounting tension. “All right.”

“Excellent!” Another few keystrokes, punctuated at the end by a hard return. “Could you fly out at noon?”

My head whirred. “Where am I flying to?”

“Oh, I'm sorry. How did I forget that? Vegas. We're just off the strip. If you can leave Denver at noon that will put you here around one, our time, no problem. We'll have you on set by two, and you'll be heading home after dinner.”

What happens in Vegas…
“Sounds fine with me.”

I spent the rest of the afternoon straightening up the house and replaying the conversation in my head. Had I missed anything? Was this really as honest as it seemed? I could find no faults, so I drove to the girls' school and surprised them with a treat. “You two want Debbie's Kitchen for dinner?”

They looked at each other for a moment, I think waiting for the punch line. We hadn't had take out in two months.

“Really? Debbie's?” My eldest buckled her seatbelt. My youngest did the same.

“Yeah. Is that okay?”

Their eyes bugged and they looked at one another. “Uh huh.”

The car reeked of the homemade garlic mayonnaise that is Debbie's signature. I looked in the rearview mirror. Gentle grins had spread over their faces. I felt good. I felt like I'd regained some control.

Dinner was an impromptu celebration with a quick explanation tacked on. “I'll tell you more later. The girls will be bored to tears.” I opened the gourmet turkey sandwiches. “Can you smell that?” My wife's eyes matched the girls'.

She had me on the bed as soon as they were asleep, and it took me a moment to understand where this was headed. “I can't. Not tonight.” I sat up. Her arm fell from my shoulder. “Dinner didn't sit well,” I lied.

“But Debbie's is your favorite.” She turned her bare back to me.

“I know.” I reached out and stroked her skin. “I don't get it. Maybe I'm just anxious about Thursday.”

She turned and her face was again animated. “So tell me. What is it? Where are you going? What are they offering?”

I looked down for a moment and the contours of the bedspread caught my attention. I envisioned the video from earlier. “It's a delivery position. I, uh, I have to go and do a trial run, which they'll pay me for.”

“They're paying to fly you out so that you can deliver something? That makes no sense.” Her lips curled. “Why don't they just send it in the mail?”

I kept my head down. “That's the thing. They can't. They need a special courier to deliver it. That's the only way it will be accepted.”

“It's still odd. Can't you see that?”

I looked up. Her face was splotched red. Her eyes were knitted close. “Maybe. I don't know. It's just some marketing stunt.”

“All right. But for what? What's the product? What's the name of the company?” She waited for me to answer, but I just couldn't spin any more deceit. “Jesus, Todd! You don't even know, do you?”

I shook my head and looked away.

“This is
so
like you, just plunging in headfirst without thinking. Just like with this house. You're going to take off to…to
Vegas
and leave me to handle everything.
I
still have to work.
I
have a conference call I can't miss, and a meeting…” she sputtered out. “Damn it! It's just so hard.”

“I know.” I touched the back of her hand. She pulled it away.

“Don't. Don't try to smooth it over. Look at me.” The skin stretched to breaking across her jaw, as it had when she delivered our girls. “You had better not waste our time with this. We have maybe enough for another month. Then…” She dropped her head and shook it. “I don't know what then.”

“They're paying me regardless. Remember? If it's right I'll make it work. If not, at least we'll have a thousand bucks.”

She looked up and parted her lips to speak. I placed a finger to them.

“Trust me?”

She held my gaze for a moment and then sighed. She pulled away from my finger. “Just be careful.”

 

I was careful. I cleared out my online history and deleted every email from Derek, especially the last one with directions to the studio and for my grooming. I had to shave my testicles with a straight razor and the rest with an electric trimmer. Fortunately, my wife left for the office early, which left me enough time to complete the deed and clean up. Then I carted the girls off to school and from there, went directly to the airport.

The terminal was dead and I breezed through, checking in with an e-ticket and my carry-on bag. I sat at the gate and tried to read the novel I'd brought with me—some trashy King rip-off—but my head was too full of anxiety to concentrate. The plot became incoherent as the pieces of my own kept pressing in. How many trips had I made last year? Thirty-five? Forty? How many dinners and drinks with clients? How many thousands of dollars spent? And now? I was prepared to sacrifice so much for a morsel.

We boarded and I settled into a window seat. My stomach clenched and unclenched incessantly. I'd always wanted to see Vegas at night. That strip rising out of the desert like a gaudy oasis. At 1:00
PM
, however, Vegas looked like a toy collection left to bake in a child's sandbox.

I grabbed a cab and directed the driver to the set, per Derek's email. The driver did not speak and I caught only glimpses of the historic landmarks. We passed some of the ancient casinos and then turned onto a shabby side-street. The set building was nondescript, boxy and brown. It possessed only a handful of small windows and the bulk of the structure was a sheet of unbroken stucco.

I paid and exited and stood on the sidewalk. The streets were empty. The cab pulled away. I had nowhere else to go but in. The receptionist looked up. “Well, Hellooo! Look at you, handsome.” He fluttered a manicured hand across his narrow chest. “My, the talent just keeps getting juicier around here.”

I blushed and looked around. There was only one other man in the waiting room.

“Your name, stud.”

“Whit, uh, Whitman. Todd Whitman.”

“Mmm hmm. Here for a two o'clock shoot?” The receptionist clicked his tongue. “Perfect.” He smiled and offered a clipboard. “Complete this form and don't forget to sign the waiver at the bottom.”

I grabbed the clipboard and turned toward the waiting room.

“Oh, I can't wait to see
that
on film.”

I hurried and took a seat. The other man looked up as I sat. He sized me up, sniffed, cocked his head and then returned to his form.

It was a basic 1099 followed by a rights agreement. I signed away ownership to my image or its likeness. The other guy, Sven, was called in while I signed and dated. He swished past me and looked back over his shoulder. I waited a moment and then returned to the desk.

“All set?” The receptionist batted his eyes. I nodded. “Then Derek will be with you in a moment. Unless…is there anything you need? Anything
I
can help you with?”

“No, I'm all set.”

“I guess you're right. The rest will come later. Ah ha ha ha!”

I turned away, shook my head and reminded myself of the $1,000.

“Todd?”

I looked up and Derek crossed the room. He was impeccably dressed in a suit and tie. He shook my hand with gusto. “Everything went well with your trip? No delays, turbulence?” He smiled whitened teeth.

“No, smooth as could be.”

“Excellent. Come this way.” He placed a palm on my back and guided me. We rounded a corner and entered a hallway. Nothing smacked of a set. It felt like just another corporate office. The deja vu put me off. “He we are.” He halted at a door and then pushed it open. “You can get undressed and leave your belongings here.” He pointed down the hall. “The studio is there so you might be a little chilly during the walk. But don't worry…” He leaned close to me. His cologne was assaultive. “We keep it HOT in there.” He laughed, parroting the sound of the receptionist. My stomach sank. “Any questions?”

I had an abundance but only asked one. “Is there a bathroom in here?” I stepped into the five-by-five foot changing room. Another door revealed a sink and toilet.

“Yes, please do take care of any business prior to coming on set.” Derek grabbed my waistline and peered in. “I trust you've shaved already.” I didn't have time to react. “Mmm hmm. Looks good.” He snapped my pants and looked up at me. “As do you. No lying with that picture.” He sneered, but then went perfectly still and leaned toward me. “You'll do well.” He let the words linger and then clapped his hands once. “All right. I'll be back in a few.” He closed the door and his footsteps fell away. My head throbbed and I leaned against the door.

I thought about bolting, just taking off for the airport. I would book another flight. Put it on my card. Fuck the cost. But I couldn't. I was desperate. My tongue felt encased in film and my neck boiled. It was the same sensation as when corporate dropped the axe.

“Todd, I hate doing this, but I've got no choice. We just can't afford your salary, benefits and commissions.”

“Just leave me with the commissions. Let me earn my keep.”

“You haven't met quota in two months.”

There was nothing more to the conversation. I was expendable. Now, so was my ego.

I took a deep breath and exhaled. My stomach fluttered and I was glad that I'd skipped lunch. Techno music pumped in the distance. I smiled. Something fast. One and done. I could do this. I would do this well.