5. Chapter 5
5
Sophie
I stare down at my phone with a crooked grin, amused by this guy’s message. His profile is mostly bare, but he’s new to the app. I’ll give him a pass.
My phone is silent for a while and I stare, waiting for the little dots to start jumping, indicating that he’s typing.
He doesn’t respond for several minutes. Did I piss him off? Sheesh, I forget how touchy men can be. I roll my eyes and move to set my phone down on the bed next to me when his response appears.
We continue to exchange bits of mundane, only mildly personal information. The conversation is enjoyable, even though it feels like it’s not going anywhere.
Very few men make a plan so quickly after connecting online. Most beat around the bush or end up ghosting after six messages. This guy got straight to the point. I have to admire that. I chew the inside of my cheek for a minute, wondering if I should send my number, but instead, tell him I have to head to bed. ‘Big meeting’ early tomorrow.
My legs are in agony when I get back to my hotel on Thursday afternoon. I wish I hadn’t accepted Vera and Penny’s offer. We agreed on meeting at a little Mexican place near them that has a special on Thursdays in addition to Tuesdays to get a second weeknight crowd. Apparently it works .
I shower with a cap on my hair so I don’t have to wash it, taking a little longer under the hot water in the hopes that it will relax my sore muscles. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and swipe my lashes with mascara then order a ride.
The trip to Williamsburg takes longer than it did before, but that’s what I get for trying to get anywhere during rush hour. The traffic here is nearly as brutal as LA’s.
Vera and Penny are standing on the sidewalk outside when we pull up to the restaurant. There’s a small crowd gathered, but it doesn’t look too bad. Penny waves when she sees me and Vera follows her gaze with a grin.
“You made it!” Penny squeals, pulling me in for a hug.
“Thanks again for inviting me. I hadn’t realized how much alone time I was getting in that hotel room.”
“The threat of cabin fever is real .” Vera’s eyes go wide to emphasize her words. I smile and nod my agreement.
“Sometimes I think I've got the hang of long-distance travel for work, but then I have a busy week like this and I realize I've got a long way to go.”
“It takes time,” Vera assures me. “I still fuck up now and then. Forget a crucial toy or, shit, lube. ”
“Oh my god, that happens to me all the time,” Penny interjects. “Thank goodness I have you now.”
“So this place has drink deals on Thursdays?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Yeah, Taco Tuesday is one thing, but Thirsty Thursday is where it’s at.” Penny giggles just as her phone vibrates. “Oh, our table is ready. Perfect timing.”
Penny leads the way to the hostess stand and I see just how packed this place is. Wondering if they might be violating a fire code, I follow my newfound friends to the table the hostess is gesturing at. She hands us menus, quickly spouts off the margarita specials, and then disappears.
“I didn’t catch any of that,” I say to Penny and Vera when she’s gone.
“Dollar margs,” Penny says with a wink. “That’s all you need to know.”
“Works for me.”
Less than ten minutes later, we alternate between stuffing our faces with chips and queso or salsa and drinking our fruity margaritas. Penny chose a watermelon margarita, but claims there’s no real flavor. Vera and I are perfectly happy with our choice of strawberry .
“So,” I say through a mouthful of chip and salsa, “forgive me if this is asking too much, but are you two… like…?” I raise my eyebrows and leave the question hanging, unfinished.
It’s been nagging at me since yesterday and they seem nice enough that I doubt the question will offend. The tequila helps by providing a sense of bravery. Penny giggles. Vera just smiles.
“No, we’re just good friends,” says Vera before taking a sip of her margarita, which I notice is almost empty.
“Good friends who fuck,” Penny adds as the waitress comes up to ask for our order.
When she disappears again, having written nothing down–a feat I remember doing in my waitressing days, but still marvel at–I turn back to the women across the table.
“Single?” asks Penny.
Whatever question I was about to ask disappears entirely from my brain. There’s no way they miss the color draining from my face. It’s been six goddamn months and Natalie just made me join a kinky dating app and I just started chatting with someone who already asked me out. I’d say that’s progress. I quickly reach for my frozen drink and suck it down until my head hurts. Squeezing my eyes at the pain, I set the huge glass down.
“Yeah,” I finally respond, grunting with the effort to open my eyes again. “Single.”
“Touchy subject?” Penny studies my face with concern.
“Just a little.”
That’s an understatement.
“Moving on,” says Vera. “Why LA?” she asks. “Why not up here or down to Florida or, hell, Texas or Chicago?”
“Emerald was already out in LA and I didn’t really have time to think.” Because I was running from an abusive boyfriend and LA is a big ass city where I could lose myself. They don’t need to know that.
“Oh yeah, why didn’t she join you this week?” asks Vera.
“She was just here a couple weeks ago for a pro shoot,” I explain, only mildly jealous of that success. I still haven’t gotten to work with a serious production company.
“Damn, we missed her?” Penny is visibly disappointed, but Vera chuckles. “Well, tell her to get in touch with us before she comes again.”
“I think you guys might make it to LA before that happens.” It’s my turn to laugh. “She kind of hates it here.”
“Why?” Poor Penny looks offended. Vera places a hand on hers.
“You’ll have to ask her,” I reply. “I’m just relaying her opinion. ”
Originally from Albany, I still wonder why Natalie claims to hate the city. Sure, the humidity sucks, but that’s only during the summer. She hates crowds, but she handles it in LA, so that can’t be it. One of these days, she’ll tell me.
The next morning, I wake up with a headache of my own making. Why did I drink that last margarita? Did I have three? Or was it four?
I slowly sit up in bed and follow the sliver of light from the curtains so I can open one side and let some light in.
“Oh, noooo,” I grumble, turning away from the bright light pouring into the room and hissing like a vampire burned by the sun.
Muttering about Jose being a dick, I go to rustle through the contents of my laptop bag for some pain meds. I toss two into my mouth and then add a third one for good measure. Just one more scene today and then I’m done here. I can make it through. I have to make it through.
I move back to find my phone on the bedside table. My stomach drops when I see the most recent text. My collab for the day is canceled. I can’t focus too much on the words, but there’s something about a family emergency. I know it happens, but I’m still a little annoyed.
Despite the pounding in my head, I bring my phone with me to the bathroom and start scrolling, looking for something to interact with. I send out a tweet saying I’m in New York City and a gig fell through, asking if anyone is tested and ready to film. I doubt I’ll get any takers. In LA, it’s always my luck that I see those posts a day late.
I scroll for a few more minutes before standing and cleaning up for the day. I’m not putting on makeup until I have a plan. If I don’t come up with a plan, I’m staying in my room and nursing this damn hangover.
Halfway through brushing my teeth, my phone vibrates loudly on the bathroom counter. I wince at the sound, but when I glance at the notification, my jaw drops.
We follow each other . As if I wasn’t aware. Sara’s another plus-size adult performer who has built her brand over the last few years. I admire her. We’ve interacted under her posts, but never via direct message. A spot on her podcast would be amazing for my career.
I type out a quick response, thanking her and asking when and where, adding that I do, in fact, eat meat. Sara responds with the address and we set a time that allows me to get ready at my very slow pace. Stupid margaritas.
My head still pounding, I clean up and throw on a sundress, but then I pause, and study myself in the mirror. Do I wear something sexier? Shit, I don’t know if this is a video interview or just audio. I’m not sure why it wouldn’t be done on video.
I Google the podcast and find that it’s both. Some of the guests are fully clothed, some are scantily clad. The latter, I realize, only have thumbnails with no trailers or teasers. Those must be behind a paywall.
Sexy, it is.
I change into some cut-off shorts and the black lace bustier I was going to wear for my scene today. It’s acceptable for the public but would fit better at a bar on a night out. Still, it’s a happy medium. I put on a full face of makeup like I would for a shoot, then grab my purse and order another Uber. The pain meds start to kick in just as the elevator doors open to take me downstairs.
Sara is staying at a vacation rental apartment. Smart. More space, a kitchen, sometimes there are laundry machines. I make a mental note to look into that next time, though maybe in cheaper cities. She buzzes me in when I arrive. I don’t have time to marvel at the absolutely gorgeous lobby of the building. It’s full of colorful marble and there’s even a grand staircase leading to the second floor.
I hurry to the elevator across the lobby and hit the button before checking my phone for the floor. Fifteenth, got it. But instead of an apartment number, Sara gives me a code to input. Frowning, I memorize the four-digit code and enter it once I get into the elevator.
When I step out, my jaw drops. The whole goddamn floor is a single apartment. Now I get the lack of apartment number in her message.
“I’m coming!” Sara’s voice echoes from somewhere to my left.
The apartment is sleek and modern, all white and shiny with enormous windows. The light spilling in makes me incredibly jealous even though my apartment back home gets great natural light. It bounces off of the surfaces of the white leather couch, the white coffee table, the shiny white marble tile floor. That’s when I notice that not a single lamp or overhead light is on. It’s all lit by the sun.
Something smells amazing, making my stomach growl.
Sara comes jogging in, her cheeks slightly pink from whatever she was just doing. She smiles from ear to ear and her blue eyes shine with warmth. It’s infectious and I feel a grin spread over my face as she approaches with a pale hand held out.
She’s wearing a short black dress that fans out when she moves. It’s simple and cotton, covered in a floral pattern, but it’s definitely not the skimpy clothing I’ve seen in some of the thumbnails for Hide the Sausage . I suddenly feel overdressed. Or underdressed, depending on your view.
“It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Thank you so much for this.” I grab her hand and shake it a couple of times before dropping it.
“Oh of course! A few fans have requested you as a guest, but I just hadn’t gotten around to reaching out. This is pure luck!” She claps her hands and rubs them together with glee. “So, you might be wondering why I asked about your diet.”
I nod and chuckle as Sara waves for me to follow her back the way she came. I know her podcast gets listeners and I’ve seen thumbnails, but I haven’t actually listened to or watched an episode yet. I feel a little guilty for not at least listening to part of one on the way over.
“Yeah, that was a little weird,” I admit.
“I was trying to think of something silly, but wholesome so that we could do it for the regular and the premium episodes. My guests and I try different sausages and bratwursts and things like that. I try to go local and if my guest is vegetarian or vegan, then I work around it and find meatless sausage. Just three different ones,” Sara continues as we enter into a large sitting room.
There are a couple of legitimate, professional cameras set up on tripods. The studio lights are turned off, aimed at light two very comfortable-looking white armchairs. Microphones are set up to swing toward the occupants of the chairs and over on a side table are two plates wrapped in foil.
“Ok, so feel free to have a seat over there,” Sara says, pointing to the chair on the right. “I’ll grab your plate and I have a bottle of water for you, just in case any are terrible. I make no guarantees.”
“Hey, you’re in charge.” I set my purse near the doorway and take a seat in the chair she indicated.
“That’s right, I am!”
Sara hands me the plate and a labelless bottle of water. A couple of utensils stick out from beneath the foil. When Sara returns to grab her plate, she pauses to start the cameras and taps a few buttons on a laptop I hadn’t noticed on the coffee table. I try to get comfortable with the plate on my lap.
“Ok, are you ready?” Sara sits and grins at me.
“Absolutely.” I’m nervous as fuck. Heart pumping, hands trembling slightly. This might be worse than when I meet new co-stars.
“It’s going to be ok,” she says in a softer tone. “There’s no pressure to answer anything you don’t want to. If there’s something you’re not comfortable with, we’ll skip it. Just say the word. That’s what editing is for.”
I take a deep breath and nod.
“Let’s do this.”
“I try to ask everyone this because I find it fascinating,” says Sara. “How do you separate work from genuine pleasure? How do you not develop a crush on someone you’re working with?”
I’ve practiced this one. People ask me all the time.
“For me, it’s a matter of flipping a switch in my brain. These are colleagues, co-workers, so that’s how I see them. It’s all a performance, right?”
“I’m sure a lot of people believe it’s all real and many of us are friends, but sometimes it really is just a one-and-done thing. No real connection.”
“It’s just work,” I agree. “That’s not to say I don’t have fun, of course.” I wink, playfully. Sara grins before moving on .
“This might be hard, but do you mind sharing your worst experience since starting collabs?”
“I worked with someone a couple months ago,” I start, fighting the urge to look down at my hands. I maintain eye contact with Sara. “We’d discussed the basics. Paying me because I was driving a full day just to get to him, a couple scenes we’d do, all that stuff. When I got there…” I trail off, not wanting to go on a rant, but not wanting to leave out the important stuff. It's easy for women in the industry to be demonized for speaking out against men or studios. The thought of losing everything I've worked so hard to build is terrifying.
“You don’t have to,” Sara offers.
“No, it’s ok.” I started the story and it deserves to be finished. I take a deep breath and continue. “His place was absolutely disgusting. I don’t mean untidy. I can handle untidy, but my socks were black after just a couple minutes. But on top of that, his specialty is rim jobs. And, well…”
“No.” The horror in Sara’s blue eyes tells me she knows exactly what happened.
“Yeah, that was the first and last time I will ever do that.”
“What an ass.” She pauses. “No pun intended.”
“Yeah, and afterward, he called me a bitch, didn’t pay me, and blocked me.” I shrug.
“Are-are you serious?”
“Yup.”
“Jesus.” Sara shakes her head. “I can’t believe he had the gall to stiff you. Literally and figuratively.”
“I should’ve driven right back home as soon as I arrived,” I mutter. It’s true. My intuition was screaming at me to run away. That it was a bad idea to continue. “I stayed because I thought I had to.”
“I’ve been there.” Sara reaches out and places a hand on mine. “It’s hard to know when you can say no. When you can just turn the car around. Plus if you’re hurting for cash, it gives you even more incentive to stay.”
“I learned my lesson though.”
“At least there’s that.”
I look down and Sara pulls her hand back, then speaks in a low voice.
“Hey, if you want me to cut that, I will. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
I meet her eyes and I can see in those blue depths that I’m not alone. It may not have been the same thing, but she’s been through similar trauma. Pressure to perform, the feeling that you have absolutely no choice, not wanting to anger someone–specifically a man–by saying no to something. It’s a terrifying situation to be in.
“No, it’s ok. Those stories matter even if just one person benefits from it.”
Sara smiles and takes a deep breath to continue.
“Let’s end on a high note, shall we? What’s been your best experience?”
“You know, despite that last story, I really have worked with some amazing people. I can’t pick just one, but this week I worked with Vera Connor and Penny Pepper. They’re such amazing women. We even met for dinner last night. It’s the kind of support and friendship that I think women need in this industry.”
“Oh, I love them. I worked with Vera a couple years ago and I just met Penny recently."
“Yeah, it was a lot of fun working with them. I almost forgot the cameras were even there!”
“Well, thank you so much for joining me today, Honey.” Sara grins at me, speaking into her mic. “Tell everyone where they can find your content and services.”
I rattle off a list of my sites, smiling into the camera.
“And that’s all she wrote, folks. Thanks for joining us for another episode of Hide the Sausage. Make sure to check out my website where you can subscribe to gain access to premium stuff like behind-the-scenes content and our extra steamy episodes.”
I smile and wait for Sara to indicate that we’re finished. A few seconds later, she nods and I deflate.
“Thank you again.” I divulged a lot more than I had expected to, but it’s so nice to talk about my experiences and feel seen.
Sara stands and moves to stop the recordings and turn off the studio lights.
“You were great.” She taps on the laptop a couple of times and then stands, meeting my gaze. “Hey, I’m here in New York for a bit longer, but I have a house party in a few weeks in LA. If that’s something you’d be interested in coming to, you’d be able to mingle with more creators. I’m happy to add you to the list.”
My eyes go wide and I sit up straight.
“Really? Oh my god, that would be amazing. Yes, thank you!” I want to jump up and hug her, but I’m not sure how she feels about getting embraced by strangers.
“Great! I might forget if I don’t add you to the list today, but don’t hesitate to remind me if I haven’t sent you the info by Sunday.”
“Thank you so much.” I sound like a broken record.
“Don’t mention it. It’ll be fun.” She winks. “You seem to have your head on straight and I can safely say you’re in the minority there.”