XXX Shamus (13 page)

“That was that Ernie guy? Did I tell you all the stuff I found on him?”

Hopper took hold of Divinity’s hand as he pulled out of the space. “I don’t think so. Why not fill me in the on the ride?”

She squeezed his fingers. “Oh man, this guy’s a clown. You’ll love it.”

A quick peek at the kid as Hopper turned out of the lot. Ernie’s head was down while his lawyer urged a chase. Not happening. He’d given up. Hopper was hopeful he’d stay that way.

The differences:

New Orleans was once a natural gathering place for pirates and travelers, thieves and whores, rich outcasts, opportunists, and drunks. A port city at the mouth of the Mississippi, a gateway to the world, blending all the lures of an exotic destination on our own shores. Business conducted with rum and knives, race mattering less than the amount of money in your pocket. It took floods to wash that type of thinking away, all the hidden inequities of class and skin color breaking same as the levies.

Las Vegas, same rules except the outcomes depended more on chance than on Old World etiquette. And being in the middle of the desert, Vegas took effort to get to. While you could start in a canoe in Minnesota and eventually float your ass down to New Orleans, that trick wouldn’t work in Nevada.

Vegas shouted for attention. New Orleans didn’t mind if you showed up or not. More rum for the locals.

The similarities:

They were both labeled Sin City, reveling in the vices most people hide in their day-to-day lives. Both were fueled by alcohol and fantasy—you didn’t have to be yourself while visiting, and nothing you did would follow you home unless what you did lost you your house or infected your body.

Another difference: New Orleans was sinking into the Gulf of Mexico. Las Vegas was spreading like a virus.

The first thing Hopper and Divinity did in the hotel room was fuck each other hard and fast, then they climbed in the shower and fucked again. They landed at the airport horny because Divinity had wanted to join the mile high club, but she and Hopper couldn’t fit in the restroom together.

After, they cuddled naked on the king-sized bed with the curtains pulled back, watching planes coming and going, watching the cranes build new casinos bigger and stronger than ever.

“You ever been to Vegas before?” Divinity asked.

“Once, back in college. Typical trip, barely enough cash to afford a hotel room, six of us crowded in together. We thought we’d try a new system for blackjack.”

“Did it work?”

“We lost all our money the first hour, then spent the next two days pretending to play slots so we could drink for free.”

Divinity laughed with her whole body and rubbed Hopper’s leg with her foot. Then she was up, hopping like a cheerleader. Hopper was reminded of
L.A. Story
, how reserved middle-aged Steve Martin dealt with Sarah Jessica Parker’s free-spirited sex kitten. Divinity stood at the window, hand on her hips, showing her tight tiny tits and shaved pussy to anyone who wanted a free faraway gaze.

“You going to be okay while I go see these Weedgardners?”

She turned, sat her ass on the windowsill, arms propping her up. “I want to check out this place. It’s
huge
. Like an art gallery and shopping mall all together. Maybe play some poker. I didn’t see any poker tables.”

“There’ll be plenty.”

“And tonight, we can go to that vodka bar I saw on the Travel Channel, and then,
oh
, the Bellagio. That’s where all the top poker players play.”

Hopper sat up on the side of the bed, glad to be out of reach of his sister, of Figg and Ivana and whoever else they could dig up to hunt him down. Glad to be out of the humidity, and glad to be in a place where he could have Divinity all to himself, not having to compete with her campus “friends with benefits.”

“I’m not good enough at figuring odds to play poker,” he said.

“Any games you do like?”

He thought about it, but nothing came to mind immediately. “Might as well be slots. I mean, that’s the purest gamble, isn’t it? Random number generators. You can’t second-guess yourself if you lose.”

She smiled widely and danced her way towards him. She leaned over and kissed him and said, “My man, the philosopher.”

“I didn’t say it was like life.”

“Life can be like that if you try, though.”

He slapped his hands on her ass and she sounded an “Ah!” Hopper said, “I don’t want life to be like that. I want some things set in stone.”

“So old-fashioned. And yet you keep fucking me, knowing I might flitter away at a moment’s notice.” Her grin told him she was teasing again, but her words cut him like jagged glass.

He scooped her up and tossed her on the bed. She writhed like a Hollywood damsel in distress. “No! No! Whatever are you going to do to me?”

His raging erection was answer enough, but he still told her, in his best Edward G. Robinson, “Shut up and spread your legs. Wider.”

The Weedgardners had a classy suite of offices in the city’s more traditional business area, an answer to the population swell—more and more coming, more and more expansion, more and more necessities, like shopping centers and malls and small businesses and franchises. The Weedgardners’ company, Bright Like Diamonds Productions, was on the third floor of a three-story building also housing a small law firm and a talent agency. Probably not a coincidence.

Divinity had called ahead for “Frederick Cather” from Baton Rouge, who was looking to create a franchise of adult videostores along the Gulf Coast from Galveston to Tampa. They gave him a three-thirty appointment.

He noticed the waiting room was pretty bare, more like a doctor’s office than a porn studio’s. No posters for the movies or clients. Hopper expected those in the back. In the meantime, he checked the magazine titles—
Entertainment Weekly
,
People
, and
The Atlantic Monthly
. Also a couple of
Elle
s.

At three forty-five, the phone chirped on the secretary’s desk. She was obviously one of the hopefuls, dressed as if this were a scene rather than her job. She was too good-looking to choose those old lady frames for her glasses. Probably had perfect vision.

“Send him back, Katherine,” a man’s voice said through the intercom.

She smiled at Hopper, winked and said, “Down the hall, first on the right.”

“Thanks.”

“Stop and talk to me on your way out?”

He nodded, but he wouldn’t do that. She was the wrong type—a big-titted blonde with a lacquered face.

The first door on the right was open, and that’s where all the porn memorabilia was stashed. Posters lined the wood-paneled walls, and a bookshelf full of awards and framed photos—the Weedgardners with Larry Flynt, with Andy Dick, with Traci Lords (post-porn)—welcomed guests behind Vince Weedgardner’s executive desk, long and full of brass paperweights. No computer in sight, but flat against the back wall was a wide-screen monitor running a screensaver of the Bright As Diamonds logo and shadowed dancing women, most certainly naked.

“Take a seat,” said Weedgardner. He was slumped in a high-backed leather chair, rocking gently with his fingers clutched together over his lap. Slick hair and a goatee, wearing a silk shirt and linen shorts. “I don’t shake hands anymore, so please don’t take offense.”

“Hey, I’m not worried about, you know. I know better than that.”

A half-grin, perfectly devilish. “I could give a shit about infecting you. That’s harder to do than you think. I’m talking about myself. Germs. Can’t risk it. If you sneeze, this meeting is over and I go get vitamin shots, so let’s get through this quickly, all right?”

“No problem. What I’m here for—”

“You’re not opening any stores. You’re not Fred Cather, so stop with the cover story.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”
Ivana dropped the dime, didn’t she?

Weedgardner dropped his chin to his chest, sighed. “Let’s cut to the chase. You want to be in the movies. I mean, look at you. What a fucking sweet body! But the face, the thick glasses, that’s why Hollywood doesn’t want you. You’d have to break in through indies like Phillip Seymour Hoffman, the fat guy.”

Hopper shifted in his chair. Weedgardner was guessing, but if this was a faster way in than the business route, then Hopper would let it play out. “Exactly, that’s it.”

Weedgardner shrugged. “Hey, I’m not a genius. It happens all the time. You’re not the first. Here, we can use you. Stand up, drop your pants.”

“Excuse me?”

“Pull out your cock, take off your shirt. Strip for me, you animal.”

Hopper unbuttoned a couple on his shirt, then stopped.

“Look, this ain’t some gay come-on. You want to star in fuck films, you’ve got to show your assets. Haven’t you seen
Boogie Nights
?”

He had, so he stripped. Shirt, shoes, pants, putting his wang on display while Weedgardner took a look, fingers rubbing his chin.

The producer said, “That’s a big one. And the upper-body is good, too. Make-up can cover up the bruises. Good god, man, how’d you get so beat up?”

“I work construction. You can get some damage.”

Weedgardner pursed his lips, bobbed his head, said, “Makes sense. Explains why you’d want to give this a try. Why me? Others not interested? You get a reference?”

“I looked up the company on the back of one of my brother’s DVD cases.” Hopper looked side to side, embarrassed when he said, “He gets into the weird stuff, like pregnant girls? Fat girls? So if they can make money, you know, then why not someone looks like me?”

“Yes, yes, yes! Our whole business is built on thinking like that. We make stars out of plain janes and dorks. People
think
you’re all unattractive because that’s the culture, right? But sit them down in front of a flick, watch a mother-to-be at five months, huge breasts, bouncing on a cock, I swear, they’ll whip it out and start jacking like it’s Angelina Jolie all the sudden.”

Hopper scratched his thigh. Weedgardner chirped the intercom. “Katherine, please come in here, babe, would you?”

Before Hopper could object, the secretary was in the room. Hopper looked over his shoulder. Katherine was focused on his ass. When she was standing beside him at the desk, she stole a peek at his cock. “Yes sir?”

Weedgardner pointed. “Fluff him, would you? Let’s see that thing at full mast.”

Hopper returned to the hotel room to find Divinity sprawled on the bed in a sparkly red dress, low cut with thin straps. Head propped on three pillows, chin fat, and a remote control in her hand. Hopper had been gone for three hours.

“Well?” she asked.

“He didn’t believe I was a businessman.”

“Me neither.”

“He’s going to put me in one of his movies.”

D sat up, curled her legs beneath her. “Get out of here. No.”

“Shooting it tomorrow. He practically insisted.”

“You’re going to do it?”

He sat beside her, still a little sore. Katherine’s blowjob was a tease—she didn’t finish. Weedgardner made Hopper jerk off after the secretary had got him up. He hadn’t helped himself like that in a long time, usually no need, so he was too rough, got chaffed.

He said, “It seems the fastest way to get into the organization and ask about Yasmin. You jealous? Want a role?”

She punched his shoulder. “No way. I don’t want you to do it.”

Hopper didn’t expect that reaction. She seemed nervous.

“What’s wrong?”

“This whole weekend, you know. I thought it would be just us. I didn’t expect that…that…
thing
of yours to erupt. I want you for myself.”

“Really? You mean that?”

“Oh, god.” D climbed off her haunches and marched a skittish path around the room, fingers rubbing her temples. “Don’t turn this into some Harlequin romance bullshit. I’m not going to get all mushy. Please promise me you won’t do it, okay? Stand him up on the offer. I’ll do a search tomorrow, see if I can get an address for the girl or something.”

“Why all the sudden—”

She got louder. “Why do I have to come out and say it? Then you’ll hold me to it, and then whatever magic was going on will be, like, dead. It’ll be so predictable after that.”

“What’s wrong with telling me you love me? I say it to you all the time. It’s pretty fucking obvious by now how we feel, so I don’t get it.”

“Just promise me you won’t do it, okay? Can we just drop the whole thing, go get a drink?”

He’d never seen her in such a state. Hopper went to her and wrapped his arms around tightly and said, “If that’s what you want, I’ll find another way. I’ll go and tell him the truth about Yasmin, see if that’ll sway him. Is that better?”

Tears on D’s cheeks soaked into Hopper’s shirt. She nodded against him and said, “Mm hm. Please.”

“Yeah, sure, of course.” He wanted to say,
I love you, D. I swear, you’re the only one I want. You’re the one I’d quit all the others for.

And he wanted her to answer,
I know, I know. I’m so sorry. I love you, baby. I haven’t felt like this about anyone else. I want you all for me.

And he would tell her, once and for all,
I’m yours.

But he didn’t. A complete pussy, too scared to lose her by telling her how much he wanted her. Especially after this freak out.

Absolute wimp. No balls. None. Zero balls.

The best he could do was hold her and not tell her the truth—he was going to do the porn shoot. Any other way would raise warning signals, get the cops and the lawyers involved. He had to go and fuck a hot stranger in order to find this girl. There was no other way around it.

A few minutes passed, they eased apart, and then Divinity wiped her tears away with her palm. Her make-up was streaking. “Geez, look at me. Now I have to redo it.”

“You’re gorgeous without that stuff. Wash it off.”

“I need a little. I still get zits, you know.” She headed for the bathroom. “After that, I hope you’re done with business for today, because the rest of the night, we’re hitting the Strip.”

Hopper turned to his reflection in the window, trying to look through it to the flashing lights outside. All that did was make him dizzy.