I, Porn Star (I #1) (10 page)

10

FIRST TAKE

Lucky

I arrive at the
penthouse at the arranged time of six-thirty. The uniformed doorman holds the
door open without questioning my status, and calls the elevator for me. I make
eye contact long enough to murmur thanks and breathe a sigh of relief when the
doors shut. The relief lasts as long as it takes for me to tug the cap off my
head and stuff it into my bag. I’m beset by a whole new set of nerves when I
exit the elevator to find Fionnella waiting for me, minus her clipboard. For
the first time, she’s less than total sparkle.

“There you are.
We need to get straight to it. The boss wants the first shots done tonight.”

“Shots?”

She nods and
falls into step with me when I reach her. “Yes. Todd can’t start until we have
you properly prepped.”

I’m ushered down
the hall to the great room and straight across to the grooming area. She
introduces me to Angela, the technician who was absent on Monday and yesterday,
when I met with the fitness trainer. The petite woman with a mop of dark brown
hair beckons me into her section and pulls the curtain closed.

“I’ll leave you
to it. We need to finalize your lingerie choices.” Fionnella stops when her
gaze lands on my extra piece of luggage. She glances back up but doesn’t voice
the question lingering in her eyes. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No.”

“Okay, I’ll get
you something for when you’re done waxing. You can eat while your hair is being
done.”

Satisfied with
her schedule, she nods and exits.

I drop my stuff
in one corner and turn around to find Angela staring at me. I’m not sure
whether she’s assessing me for work purposes or her personal curiosity is
getting the better of her.

“Your face,
honey,” she eventually says. “Are you temporarily blotchy or am I dealing with
something else?”

Heat surges into
my face. I’d forgotten about my epic crying jag among the detritus of
everything else I’m dealing with. I swipe self-consciously at my cheeks. “It’s
temporary.”

“Great. That
helps a lot. Okay, get your clothes off, slip into the white gown and hop on
the bed. Have you had a Brazilian before?”

 
I shake my head as I toe off my boots.

“What about a
bleach?”

“No.”

“Depending on
your coloring down there, we may not need the bleach, but prepare yourself for
the possibility.”

She heads to the
prepping table and turns on a machine that looks like a fondue set without the
tower. I get rid of my clothes, tug the gown over my head and stretch out on
the massage table. She returns with a small bowl, which she sets down at the
head of the bed. In the grand scheme of the huge obstacles I face, I’m mildly
shocked to find myself nervous at the thought of having a patch of hair ripped
off my pussy. But my nerves clearly filter through because she lays a hand on
my knee.

“Relax, honey.
The first time is a bitch, I won’t lie, but tensing up will make it worse. I’ll
go as fast as I can.”

Laughter spills
out before I can hold it in. Even to my ears, I sound a touch off my rocker.
“I’m sorry. This is all a little…surreal.”

She nods as if
she totally understands. Maybe she does. I wonder how often she does this
for…the boss.

Q
.

Did I really name
him that? And what exactly had he meant by
bravo
?

My spinning
thoughts refocus on the room and what’s being done to my private parts. I take
a slow, deep breath and force my limbs to slacken.

Twenty minutes
later, I’m a full member of the Brazilian club, shock and pain induced tears
included.

Luckily, I pass
the no-need-for-a-bleached-butthole test, much to my semi-hysterical relief.
When Angela instructs me to, I get off the bed and hobble gingerly to the hair
wash section of her domain.

The touch of firm
fingers massaging heavenly smelling shampoo into my hair takes my mind off the
stinging in my crotch. And thanks to the miraculous hypoallergenic mist she
sprayed down there, by the time I’m seated in front of the mirror with my
dinner of
pasta fettuccini
,
garlic
bread and slice of cheesecake in my lap, the pain is almost gone.

The blow dry
warms me from the outside and the hot food releases the chill inside me. By the
time I’m done with both, I feel a little more able to form thoughts that don’t
start and end with abject hopelessness.

I need to find a
place to stay tonight. That’s my first priority once I’m done here. Fionnella
has a laptop, but asking for it would involve too many questions. I toss the
problem around while Angela combs and trims my hair.

Deciding I have
no choice but to return to Queens and take my chances with the homeless
shelter, I look up as Angela fluffs my hair one last time.

“There. We’re
done with your hair.”

I look into the
mirror and my eyes widen. My hair has always held a natural wave, but Angela
has emphasized the curls with a hot iron and teased the layers so the caramel
and blonde swirl around each other in eye-catching waves. I no longer have
split ends and whatever product she used has left a shiny, healthy head of hair
styled back away from my face. Some the girls back at The Villa often attempted
to replicate styles like these, but I’ve only ever seen perfection like this in
a magazine.

My gaze lifts and
catches hers in the mirror. “Thanks,” I murmur. I can’t summon more enthusiasm
than that because, although I want to feel elated that my hair looks amazing,
the purpose behind the makeover remains firmly locked in my mind.

The makeup
session is even more dramatic than the hair, despite the subtle colors she
uses. I barely recognize my own face by the time she finishes. I suddenly have
noticeable cheekbones and my eyes are huge pools of deep green. I’m still
staring at myself, stunned, when Fionnella walks in.

“Perfect, you’re
right on time.” Her smile is back, although a touch strained at the edges.
Angela excuses herself to tidy up and leaves Fionnella to judge her handiwork.

She makes pleased
hums as she touches the curled ends of my hair.

“Come on, let’s
get you fitted for the shoot.”

Her gaze follows
me when I go to grab my stuff and when I return, she nods at my large backpack.
“You look like you’re going somewhere. Is there a change of address we need to
know about?”

I need to be
careful with my answer. “I…yes, but I’m not exactly sure what it’s going to be
just yet.”

The smile leaves
her eyes. “Is there a problem I need to know about, Lucky?” She cuts to the
point.

My grip tightens
on my backpack and I decide to come clean. “The place I was staying at was
kinda…raided.”

Her mouth purses.
“Drugs?”

I shake my head
quickly, although I can’t exactly stop her from forming her own opinion. My motel
address is scribbled down on one of her clipboards. She knows in which part of
town I live. Or lived. “No, some other…vermin problem. Anyway, I didn’t have
time to find a new place because I had to come here.” The half-lie slips out
easier than expected.

She spears me
with an incisive look. “We won’t be done here for another couple of hours. You
know that, don’t you? That means you won’t be able to start looking for a place
to stay until almost midnight.”

I nod. “I’ll be
fine,” I say. The dull thudding of my heart states otherwise.

Fionnella turns
away without responding, and I don’t know whether my answer is satisfactory or
not. Still in my gown, we head to Wendy’s station. “Put your stuff over there.”
She points to the area behind her desk. “I’ll go and see if Todd is ready.”

But she doesn’t
head to Todd’s area. She leaves the room for five minutes and when she returns
her smile is back.

She inspects the
lingerie on the table for a minute before she picks up a moss green ensemble.
“This one first.”

To my surprise
it’s a simple lace-trimmed half Teddy and French knickers set. Considering the
nature of what I agreed to, I was expecting the pieces to be much saucier than
this. With a touch of relief, I retreat to the curtained off area and slip the
garment on, taking care to avoid messing up my hair. The silk feels warm and soft
against my skin, and I let my fingers drift over it for a stolen second before
I emerge.

“Great, we got
your size right.” She reaches for her clipboard and ticks a box, then cocks her
head toward Todd’s area. As we head over, the lights dim and I notice the three
staged areas for the first time.

One area is set
up to resemble a window of a suite or bedroom. A posh velvet chaise longue is
set against roped off, expensive curtains. The setting is classy and flawless,
but it’s clear the spotlight is on the chaise.

The other two
areas follow the same design—one’s a bed with sexily rumpled sheets, and
the other the mirrored vanity of a black and gold bathroom.

Todd looks up
from the piece of equipment in his hand and points to the chaise. “We’ll start
there.”

Nerves attack me
as I walk toward it. “What…what do you need me to do?”

“Just recline on
it. Try not to exaggerate your poses. And look directly into the camera.”

I recite the
steps and nod. “Okay.”

I climb onto the
dais and walk to the chaise. The spotlight trained on the stage is warm but not
uncomfortably so. I sit, place my hands on the seat and scoot back on the
smooth velvet. It feels so natural to lie sideways and tuck my feet beneath me,
so that’s what I do. Taking care not to ruffle my hair too much, I tuck it over
my shoulders and recline into the corner.

The first flash
blinds me and I wince. “Sorry.”

“It’s cool, but
try not to shut your eyes.”

I take a breath
and stare into the lens. Todd snaps several shots, taking a step closer with
each one. After five minutes, he swaps cameras. This one doesn’t need a flash,
so I relax a little.

Staring into the
lens, I’m suddenly reminded of another camera in another room down the hall and
my first audition when I had to
perform
.
Something stirs inside me—hot and urgent. I try not to fidget; the memory
grows stronger.

Convince
me that you’re worth fucking. Convince me you’re worth
dying
for
.

The mechanical
voice is so clear in my head, it feels like I’m back in that room again, giving
myself over to commands that tap into fantasies I didn’t know I harbored until
I was challenged.

“Let’s try
another pose.”

I slowly sit
upright, my mind still in another room, and move to the middle of the seat. I
plant both feet on the floor and bring my knees together. Hands on either side
of me, I slowly lower my head until my nose is pointed to the floor and
waterfalls of hair gently brush my cheek. As I lift my gaze and stare into the
camera another voice, another room, slides into my mind frame.

Tell
me, Elly, do I look like a freak to you?

It’ll
be our little secret…

Come
here, Elly.

Sit.

The heat in my
belly intensifies. My breath shudders in and out. My knees want to part. I
fight them, fight the deeper tingling between my legs. Todd climbs the stage
again, comes closer. My bare feet slide in opposite directions on the smooth
wooden floor, but my knees stay glued together.

Quinn’s low,
gravel-rough voice replays over and over in my head as his deeply hypnotic,
soulless eyes, stare at me from the ever-advancing camera lens.

Come
here, Elly.

Sit.

Elly…

Elly.

“I think that’s
it for this set up. Let’s get you ready for the next one.”

My body jerks
into the present. I turn away from the camera and tighten my belly against the
persistent heat. The sight of sour-faced Wendy waiting just behind Todd helps
dissipate the electricity sizzling through my blood.

I stand and
follow her. She hands me a russet-colored lace Basque and thong and I change.

Todd directs me
to the bed and again allows me to strike my own poses. The sensations return,
stronger than before.

My mind whirls
with more than a touch of confusion. How can I be enjoying this? How can my
body be this hot when everything about what I’m doing is wrong?

Yes, I’m doing
this for a blindingly simple reason—to keep myself alive and to keep
Clayton from discovering the secret I hold locked in my heart. But a part of me
is also enjoying the thrill of dressing up in nice lingerie, wearing makeup and
playing minx with the camera. Because I know the man with the mechanical voice
will see it?