Chapter 8
Lana
Holland nudged my side as we stepped out after class ended. “So? What’s your plan?”
I shrugged, hugging my notebook to my chest. “Not sure yet. You?”
“I don’t know.” She had a smug grin on her face. “But you’ve got a goldmine sitting right in your living room, and I’m thinking about taking advantage of that.”
“If you show up at Callan’s house with a notebook and those slutty little glasses—” I said, pointing at her face. “He’ll think you’re there to audition.”
She snorted and took off her glasses. “Well, if he needs an extra, maybe that’s my big break.”
“Please don’t. Even if I think you’d be the hottest porn actress alive…please don’t become a porn star.”
Holland sighed dramatically, then she waved a hand to dismiss my plea. “Don’t worry. As much as I love sex, I don’t want the whole world to see me do it. I’ll leave that to your sexy porn stepdaddy.”
“Please don’t ever call him that again.”
We both laughed, even though it wasn’t so funny to me. Luckily, Holland always knew when to drop a subject, so she started telling me about a new food spot she wanted to check out with me sometime.
***
By Wednesday, I still hadn’t picked a topic.
I sat in the library with my laptop open, and the cursor blinking over a blank document.
The essay was supposed to be about a personal experience on a film set.
Something real, something that had shaped our understanding of how stories came to life on camera.
Everyone else would probably find some student production happening on campus to write about.
And while that was probably the safest option, I kept thinking about Holland’s idea.
The longer I thought about it, the harder it was to shake off. The more I told myself it was weird, the more I found myself drawn to it anyway. She wasn’t wrong. The adult film industry was still film. It just had different stakes. It would make my essay stand out from the rest.
I’d been around it for over a year, and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t ignore it.
People were coming and going in and out of the house. Actors, producers, makeup artists. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was organized. Many would be surprised at how professional an adult film set could be.
I’d never watched a full scene being filmed, but I’d heard enough to know that there was rhythm to it. Actual professionals who poured their hearts into what they were doing.
Fine, maybe some were really just there for the sex—like Karlee. But I couldn’t deny that most of the people hanging out at Callan’s were really there to work.
I stared at the empty document, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.
If I wrote about it, I’d have to make it sound academic. I could talk about performance, about the illusion of desire on camera versus the reality behind it. I could call it something like A Study of Intimacy and Performance.
But that would mean writing about Callan. About the world he’d created. About the parts of him I didn’t want to get to know more about, when what I already knew never really brought me any kind of joy.
I rested my chin on my hand and let out a heavy sigh.
Maybe Holland was right. Maybe I really did have a goldmine sitting in my living room. One I’d spent months pretending not to see.
It made sense. Everything we studied in class existed there, too, just in a more…naked way.
I’d still have to ask Professor Hayes first. Though he was the kind of professor who always supported his students, I wasn’t so sure he’d support this idea.
Still, he talked a lot about cinematic truth and human storytelling, which, depending on how you looked at it, was exactly what porn was trying to fake.
After an hour of overthinking, I shut my laptop and decided to just ask him. If he said no, I’d move on. If he said yes…well, then I’d figure out the rest later.
When I arrived at his office, the door was slightly open.
He was typing on his laptop, glasses low on his nose, a coffee cup balanced dangerously close to the edge of his desk.
As much as I admired him, he often made me anxious with the littlest things—just like that damn coffee cup.
Or the way he continuously clicked his pen while he thought, leaving a faint rhythm that made it hard to focus.
Or the way he’d start a sentence, pause halfway through it, and stare into space like he’d forgotten how to speak, and then dismiss that first thought to speak about something completely different.
He wasn’t incompetent. Hayes was brilliant, but his absentmindedness often drove me crazy.
“Professor Hayes?” I said, knocking lightly.
He looked up and smiled, looking as pleased as he always did when I, or any other student, for that matter, went up to talk to him. “Lana Marsh!” he called out, stretching out my name and making it sound a bit too dramatic as he leaned back in his chair. “Come in. What can I help you with?”
I stepped inside and clutched my notebook against my chest. “I had a quick question about the essay.”
“Go ahead.” He motioned for me to take a seat.
I hesitated for a second, then sat down in the chair across from him.
Okay. Don’t beat around the bush. Just go for it.
I took a deep breath. “Would it be okay if I wrote about the adult film industry?”
Hayes lifted his brows, his eyes blinking exactly five times before he just stared at me. “The adult film industry?”
“Yeah,” I said, clearing my throat. “I mean, technically, it’s still film production that has a massive audience. It’s an industry that tells stories. Even if they’re not, you know, complex ones.”
He pressed his lips together, clearly suppressing a smile. “That’s…an unconventional choice.”
“I know,” I said quickly. “But I’ve been around that world a little. Not in it,” I added, waving my hands in panic, “someone I live with works in it. I’ve seen how the sets function. It’s actually kind of fascinating.”
Hayes tilted his head, studying me for a moment. “I assume you’d approach it academically?”
“Yes,” I said. “I will completely look at it from the outside. How intimacy is manufactured on camera. How it overlaps with performance theory. Stuff like that.”
He was quiet for a beat, then nodded slowly. “If you can frame it as a legitimate examination of filmmaking practice, I don’t see why not. Just be careful with your tone and sources. You’ll need to support your observations with credible analysis.”
Oddly, relief flooded through me. “Okay. Yeah. I can do that.”
“Good,” he said, smiling faintly now. “I look forward to reading it.”
“Great, thank you.” As I got up to leave his office, Hayes got up too and stopped me by saying my name.
“Yes?”
“Are you content with your living situation?”
I frowned, but I figured his question was justified after hearing that someone I lived with did porn. I shrugged, then smiled as authentically as I could. “I sort of have to be.”
He nodded slowly and kept studying me. “But it’s not interfering with your studies, is it?”
“No, I’ve gotten really good at ignoring it all,” I told him with a tight smile.
“But it still intrigues you enough to want to write about it.”
“It was Holland’s idea, to be honest. But I figured it would be a way more interesting essay than just writing about another indie production.”
“That’s good thinking,” he agreed before sitting back down.
“I just thought I’d come ask you first before I’d shock you with it,” I admitted with a laugh.
“Oh, nonsense. I’m sure I wouldn’t have been too shocked. Truthfully, I’m more scared of what Holland will write about. That girl has a strange mind.”
He wasn’t wrong, and so I agreed. “That’s true.”
“Stop her if she writes about another zombie movie. I don’t think I can handle three thousand words on fake blood viscosity and method acting while half-dead again.”
I chuckled. “I will. Bye, Professor.”
After leaving his office and heading to the exit to get to my car, I got a text and pulled out my phone.
Holland had sent a picture of herself lying on her bed with a couple of open books surrounding her.
Her eyes were closed, her tongue out, and the rest of her body limp as if she had died from exhaustion.
I’m dying here. Research is so lame. Might turn it into a short movie and write an essay about how lame research is.
I laughed and quickly texted back.
Hey, that’s actually a pretty creative idea. You should definitely write an essay about that.
Her reply came almost instantly.
Haha you’re so funny omg I can’t believe you’re not an award-winning comedian.
I rolled my eyes at her text and laughed again.
Hey, just supporting you over here.
By the way…Hayes said yes.
She replied a few seconds later.
Knew it. You’re gonna get an A for writing about dicks.
Definitely not what I will be focusing on.
LAME
Come over. Let’s watch a movie.
Normally, after finally deciding on what to write or coming up with a new idea for a screenplay nobody would ever get to read, I would lock myself in my room and start writing and only stop when I fell asleep.
But hanging out with Holland sounded better this time.
I’ll grab some snacks.
I parked outside her apartment thirty minutes later with a bag of chips and two bars of chocolate in the passenger seat.
Holland lived in one of those old, low-rise buildings with thin walls and peeling paint that always smelled like weed and coffee.
Her neighbors were mostly students too, but none went to the same college as we did.
Still, Holland loved it there because she hated sleep and would rather hang out with whoever was up for it.
When I headed inside and knocked on her door, she yelled, “It’s open!”
I saw her curled up on the couch in pajama shorts and a shirt that said I’M A STAR, surrounded by a bowl of popcorn and multiple soda cans. A movie was already paused on the TV screen, but I knew that wasn’t the one we’d be watching.
Amused by the sight, I lifted the bag of chips for her to see. “Why did I grab snacks when you have enough here already?”
“There are never too many snacks. And I knew you’d pick those, so I wasn’t stopping you.”
I laughed softly and sat down next to her. “Smart. So, what are we watching?”
“Something educational,” she said, sitting up and grabbing the remote.
I watched the screen as she went through the catalogue before finally landing on Magic Mike XXL.
“Educational,” I repeated.
“Very. It’s said to be one of the greatest cinematic masterpieces.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
Holland shrugged. “IMDb reviews.”
I laughed and rolled my eyes as I got comfortable between snacks and throw-pillows. “If it’s bad, we should watch an actual masterpiece. Like…Mother! or The Place Behind the Pines.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You’ll love this one,” she assured me, grinning as the first half-naked men appeared on screen. “Look at that choreography. That lighting. Look how well-lit those abs are. That’s worth writing an essay about.”
I nodded, pressing my lips together. “Mh-hmm. You know what? You’re right. This could be good.”
“It sure will be. Besides, I already did some research on abs by googling Buster Ace.”
My head snapped toward her. “You what?”
“Relax, I just Googled him.”
“Holland, why would you do that?”
“Uh, because he’s a public figure and always naked. And I wanted to prepare for this movie.”
“So you decided to Google a porn star instead of the actual actors in this movie?” I asked, pointing at the TV.
“Yeah,” she replied with a shrug, then she grinned at me. “Do you know that his most viewed video is called Office Hours? Innocent but so iconic.”
“Please tell me you didn’t watch it…”
“Uhm, hello? Of course I did.”
I groaned and buried my face in my hands. “Oh my god.”
She laughed hard. “Relax. I didn’t watch the whole thing. I skimmed. For academic purposes.”
“I’m sure.”
“Honestly,” she said, pausing the movie, “he’s got better production quality than most of the indie stuff we watch in class. It’s actually really professional. I mean, if you ignore the moaning.”
I gave her a side-eye glare. “Can we not analyze Callan’s porn career?”
She grinned. “Fine. But you have to admit, it’s genius essay material. You could literally talk about anything. All that stuff Hayes loves.”
“Yeah, I might.”
Truth was, I had no idea how to start. All I knew was that I still had to ask Callan first. I couldn’t just go to set one day and watch while taking notes.
“You’re overthinking it,” she said, sounding less mocking now. “Write it like you’re writing about any other film set. Just, you know, one with more…body contact.”
I nodded and smiled tightly at her. “I’ll need some time to think of how to go on about it all.”
“It’ll be fantastic, Lana. You’re a genius. You make everything sound interesting.”
I let her words sink in as we fell into a comfortable silence.
The movie continued to play, and I watched the screen but barely followed the story.
My thoughts kept drifting back to Callan.
How normal he made everything seem at home, how casually he talked about “shooting days” like they weren’t the most intimate things, and how I’d never really asked him about it.
Maybe Holland was right. Maybe there was something to learn from that experience.