The Legend of the Ditto Twins (44 page)

"You
mean down here?" Clark's hand slid between his brother's legs.

During Spring Break,
most folks celebrate Easter or Passover or go to Ft. Lauderdale. We flew to
Prague.

Clay had
taken to being a producer as quickly as Jay had to becoming a director. During
the two months before we left, preparations for The Epic Adventure proceeded
flawlessly. Lily took a four-week course at a local cosmetology school. Clay
consulted lawyers, made deals, drew up contracts, found accommodations, rented
locations, and watched the bank account like a hawk. Jay, who seemed to know
everyone in the adult film business, practically lived on the phone, calling in
favors from all over Europe. Mom would have had a heart attack if she'd seen
the phone bill.

As for
Clark and me, we began (at Jay's suggestion) to spend a couple of hours
swimming at the local YMCA each weeknight and tanning at a health club near
Casa Clay-Jay every weekend. We could hardly believe how quickly our bodies
improved during those two months. We saw the changes in the Rialto mirror and,
even better, felt the changes whenever we touched each other. We were becoming
men, and the men we were becoming turned us on even more than the boys we were
outgrowing. It seemed as if we were making love constantly. By the time we got
on the plane, we were toned and tanned and sexually wired as never before.

When we
got off the plane in Prague, there was a big black limousine waiting for us.
During his years in Berlin, Jay had often shot stills for the many X-rated
films produced and directed by an American expatriate named Edward Riggs, who
was unofficially known as "The Porn Pasha of Prague." Jay and Riggs
were old friends, so it was no surprise that he was standing at the foot of the
Jetway when we disembarked—not back with the hoi polloi in the waiting area,
but right there up front. The limousine was his.

Jay made
the introductions; Riggs kissed Lily on the cheek, shook Clay's hand, wrapped
Jay into a bear hug, and put out his fleshy paw in our direction.

"In
this business, never hug anyone till the second time you meet," he
said with a twinkle. "And then check to be sure you've
still got your wallet." He shook our hands, sized us up, and turned back
to Jay. "Well, if they fuck half as good as they look, I think you've got
something."

As part
of our preparation, Jay had told us all about Riggs. According to rumor, he was
a shrewd operator who'd made it a point, over the years, to cultivate anyone in
authority who would prove to be a useful ally to his borderline business.
Apparently, he had succeeded. Everyone at the airport seemed to know him, and
he seemed to know anyone who mattered.

He
motioned to a pair of young men who were standing a few feet away, and they
stepped forward.

"Mark,
Clark, meet Pavol and Libor. They'll be taking care of you till you start
filming." He winked. "Both speak your language." Another wink.

Stammering
our thanks, we greeted them. One was as hunky as the other, stocky peasant
types underneath their button-down shirts and tailored suits. Both were blessed
with a natural muscularity and an effortless masculinity. Clark and I glanced
at their packages, but the cut of their trousers was such that they might as
well have been eunuchs. However, I doubted that.

"Sir,
your passports and baggage checks," said Pavol.

Blindly,
we handed them over.

"This
way," said Riggs, moving out of the Jetway.

He
hurried past the long lines at the immigration counters and the baggage claim
to an unmarked door. The guides leapt forward to open it for us, then vanished.
We followed Riggs into a VIP lounge, where a uniformed attendant hurried
forward to greet him.

"Good
afternoon, Ed," he said.

"Champagne,
I think." That was all Riggs said, and the attendant hurried off.

Before we
had finished our drinks, the guides reappeared to return our passports. They'd
already been stamped.

"All
luggage is now stowed in car, Ed," one said.

"Good."
Riggs motioned us all forward. "This way."

As we
followed them through the terminal, Pavol and Libor dropped back to bookend us,
one on either side. In tandem, Clark and I reached for our cigarettes and
offered a Marlboro to each of them. They politely refused but instantly
produced
Bics
to light our cigarettes.

"We
do not smoke... tobacco," said Pavol.

We
grinned. "Cool."

"If
there is anything you need, we will be happy to acquire it for you. Cool?"
He lowered his voice. "Hash is not so expensive here. Disco drugs are most
available. Coke is difficult to be found—but Libor knows people."

Libor
nodded proudly. "I know people."

"Thanks
anyway, but..."

“...we're
in training..."

“...sort
of. For the film."

"Of
course. Cool," said Pavol. "I do not even
wank
off for one week before I make film."

"You
are actors? You've..."

“...been
in films?"

"Two,"
replied Pavol proudly.

"One,"
said Libor.

"I
fuck like bunny."

"As
do I also," said Libor.

"But
we are both practicing to be bottom boys, too. Libor is becoming very good
bottom boy. I am not so good just yet. But I am rehearsing frequently. Are you
completely cast yet?"

I
couldn't help wondering where the conversation would have gone next if we hadn't
arrived at the limo right then. The driver, holding the door for us, was as
hunky as Pavol and Libor. We figured he must be a moonlighting porn star, too.

"I
could get used to this," I whispered to Clark.

"Should
we put on our sunglasses now?" he asked.

"Not
till after we make the movie."

"Shit."

"Hotel
Pariz
," said Riggs to the driver as he ushered
us into our first limousine. "Jay, Clay, and I have a lot of business
things to go over. Hope you don't mind, but we'll drop you guys at the hotel. Pavol
and Libor will take good care of you. Whatever you want, just ask."
Another wink.

"Thanks,
Mr. Riggs."

"Don't
ever call me that again," he barked in mock anger. "I am Ed to my
friends. Is that clear? What're you trying to do—make me feel like the old fart
I am?"

We tried
to laugh and apologize—and didn't do either especially well.

"Okay.
Meet you all in the dining room at 7:30 a.m. We want to be on the road by nine.
The villa's over a hundred kilometers from here."

The Hotel
Pariz
was housed in a beautiful Beaux Arts building
on a street I didn't even try to pronounce. We followed Pavol and Libo
r into
the
lobby where our room keys were handed over before we
asked for them, and a bellboy was already bringing our luggage from the limo
before we reached the elevator. No more interested in us than we were in him,
he deposited our things, took his tip, and left.

"What
would you like to do tonight?" Pavol asked.

"Well,
first thing is..."

“...take
a shower, and..."

“...we're
so hungry, we..."

“...could
eat a horse."

"Would
you prefer to go out to restaurant or shall I place order from room
service?"

"Room
service." In unison.

"It
feels like we've been traveling..."

“...
for a week. We'd better hit the sack early."

"Ah.
This is American colloquialism?" asked Libor.

We
nodded.

"Meaning…
to go to bed?"

We
nodded. They nodded. It all took a little too long.

"Uh...
We'll just jump in the shower..."

Pavol moved
instantly to the phone. "And I shall order meal. Steaks for
everyone?"

"Perfect.
We eat anything..."

“...that's
put in front of us."

The
minute we said it, we regretted it.

"Ah.
This is
double
entendre?"
asked Libor.

"Well,
I suppose it could be, but..."

“...in
this case, it wasn't meant to be."

We all
laughed, sort of.

Once we
were under the spray of water, soaping each other up, Clark leaned close.

"I
think they're coming on to us," he said, turning me around to scrub my
back.

"No
shit, Sherlock."

"What
are we gonna do?" He handed me the soap.

"Obviously,
Riggs doesn't mind. Did you see all those winks?"

"I
sure as shit did." Clark pivoted around to face me, and our erections
bumped into each other.

"See,
our dicks noticed, too. What are we gonna do?

Clark
grinned and reached down. "What we always do."

When we
eventually came out of the bathroom, fully clothed, dinner had just arrived. At
that point, the need for food replaced our other concerns, and we were soon
wolfing down our meal as if we'd not eaten in a month. So were they.

Almost
half of
Pavol's
steak had disappeared before he
spoke. "May I ask question?"

"Sure."
In unison.

"Do
you always take shower together?"

"Always—well,
almost. I can't remember..."

“...the
last time I showered without my brother."

"Ed
informed us you are boyfriends," said Pavol.

"Oh,
more than that," I said instantly. "Clark is..."

“...the
person I'm going to live with..."

“...the
rest of my life, till the day we die."

Pavol
nodded. "I have brother. Not twin, just brother, but I do not love him
that way." He chewed contemplatively. "In fact, I do not like him
very much. He is fat."