Tatiana and I are up at eight, prepping breakfast. “You look wrong doing that, you know,” she tells me while I cut tomatoes and put them on a plate. I grab a cucumber to give it the same treatment.
“Wrong? Why?”
“You look fake, like you’re not supposed to be doing domestic chores. You’re feral, fakely gone domesticated. You just can’t pull it off. You know what it makes me want to do?”
“I do not.” I pop a piece of cucumber in my mouth and crunch down on it.
“Makes me want to fuck you.”
“O-o-oh, hell yes, maybe you should be on our video too,” Emil says, sauntering into the kitchen, as always with Zoe under his arm.
“Morning!” Zoe eyes me first, then Tatiana. “You’d be hot. There must be a market for the owner of an adult entertainment company porning it up with rockers.”
Soon, the rest of the band enters too, some more tousled-looking than others, Elias in particular. He wears a sated smile, though, and seconds later Waris appears. I was wondering where she ended up last night. Now, Elias kisses her sweetly on the forehead, seats her at the industrial-sized breakfast table, and asks, “Coffee, babe?” Guess that answers my question.
I’m relieved I’ll get the four of them out of here; Elias, Emil, and Zoe will be leaving after breakfast, and I’ll be dismissing Waris as well. The fewer people I have here with the Santa Colombini sniffing around the mountains, the better.
While we eat, I fall silent, considering my options. Nadia and Bo aren’t awake yet. They seemed happy during dinner last night, but they’re not of the sharing kind, and I still don’t know where they stand on today’s shoot.
Then, there’s Troy. Across from me, Belen’s trying to catch his attention, but he’s not all that receptive at the moment. Deep in his coffee, his expression is closed. He replies to her in distracted monosyllables.
I’ve brought a few backup girls. Irene is here, and so is Jean. I’ve been using them as assistants, their main task so far to make sure everyone’s comfortable, but either would be delighted to step in for Belen if she can’t keep Troy’s interest. That’d give me a different set of problems, of course; Belen isn’t big on rejection.
She had a hands-down toddler fit at my preference for Tatiana instead of herself yesterday. I’m glad I took the time for preemptive damage control; with a mixture of threats, promises, and comfort inside Gianni’s van, I snapped her out of it before I even introduced her to Tatiana.
Gianni nods at me from the doorway. Tatiana remains where she is, coolly watching me raise to my feet. I excuse myself. Ask Irene to pour more coffee in the meantime.
“We have a solution for Bo and Nadia,” he says as he waves me toward the bedrooms.
“We do?”
He mhms and rakes a hand over his balding head, a gesture he commits only when he’s extremely pleased. “Bo and I had a chat over coffee and cognac late last night. We discussed his worries and how I could appease them, and I wanted to show you the new set.”
We enter their suite. The biggest bedroom was set up for the band leader and his wife yesterday; even if the commodities aren’t five stars, you want to give your VIPs the best.
Bo and Nadia’s bed has been transformed from the utilitarian lodge look it had to a luscious, intimate setting with flowers, a wooden headboard, even an alarm clock and a picture of the two of them on the nightstand.
“Wow. You’re filming right here?”
“Yep. I sent them off to get something to eat, but this is what we’re doing: we’re stripping the shoot down to the bones. Doors will be closed. We’re only using two cameras, both handled by women, and I’ll be the only other person onset.”
Gianni sweeps the room with an open hand, scissoring over the green screen behind the bed and the white sheeting that covers the upper corners of the room in its entirety. “See the lighting?”
I squint, trying to understand what he’s doing. “Yeah. What’s up with it?”
“For intimacy and comfort, all lighting is directed away from the couple. To receive enough light to film, we’re pointing double the number of spotlights we typically use toward the walls and the ceiling.”
“Gianni.” I slap his shoulder. “You’re a genius. And they’re okay with this?”
He shrugs. “Seems like it. Nadia was relieved, which seems to be the culprit when it comes to her husband. They’re still not sold on being naked with each other. They’ll need to lose the underwear though, if we’re to get shots free of fabric lines.”
“I know.” I rub my fingers over my chin in thought. “Editing hasn’t started on Emil’s material yet, I assume?” I turn to meet his gaze, and Gianni instantly knows where I’m going with this.
“Actually, Williams started playing around with it last night. He was curious to see how the visuals could back up the music. He’s never worked that way before.”
“Right, he’s used to the music only as background to the visuals,” I say.
“Exactly. I should have him play with it a bit more, huh?”
I grin. “How about we do this: I take the band for an after-breakfast walk through the beautiful wilderness here, while Williams and you put something together. Make it as PG as possible, but highlight the necessity of bare skin where you can.”
“Yes, that won’t be hard. I’ll use the top of a boob without straps marring it. The side of a hip and thigh without panties interrupting the flow of bare skin.”
“Perfect. Then we’ll do a show-and-tell with the whole group present, under the excuse of a goodbye toast.”
Gianni rubs his hands together. “This should be good.”
“You’d want to add some of Elias and Waris’ work too,” I say. From his expression, he’s already on it.
Even rock stars can be manipulated. As we speak, Nadia and Bo are in their bedroom, making sweet love to each other with Gianni’s professional assistance. They didn’t openly agree to losing every thread, but I have a feeling it’ll be natural for them to do so once they’re in the groove.
I smile to Tatiana and pull her against me.
“You’re quite the puppeteer, aren’t you?” she murmurs, angling up on her shoes to kiss me.
“Naw. I just work with talented people.”
“And to do that, you’ve gotta have the instinct to find them. Like they say, ‘it takes one to see one.’”
We descend to the ground-floor living room, where Gianni’s producer is getting Troy’s set ready. There’s no telling how fast Bo’s shoot will be finished, but damn, it would be nice to wrap Troy’s up too and get people out.
According to Felix, the Santa Colombini have been up and down the mountains a few times already. I chuckle to myself. They’re like blood hounds on my trail. It’s only a matter of time before they catch a whiff of me.
With Tatiana behind me, the hand of my nun-turned-accomplice secured against my lower spine, I survey Troy’s set. A green screen is stretched behind grey cushions on black sheets. Here, the lighting is back to normal, with spotlights already switched on, waiting for the actors.
“Ethan.” I use two fingers, waving the producer over to me.
“Sir?”
“Has Troy seen the set yet?”
He folds his arms as he answers. “No. He hasn’t been showing a whole lot of interest.”
“Any antagonism?”
“What do you mean?”
I exhale my impatience. The producers are often in closer contact with my performers than the director, so I know he’s been talking with Troy.
For a few moments, dread trickles through my system; I hate it when I doubt myself, thinking I could’ve neglected vital steps in the development of my projects. “Has he shown any sign of wanting to withdraw from the agreement?”
“No, he’s just not that enthused.”
“That’s still a problem.”
“I know.” Ethan hands off a knife to one of the guys so they can fasten the cables below the podium.
“Who does he like of the girls?”
Tatiana’s behind me, not interrupting, but Ethan’s stare keeps flicking to her. He isn’t used to me being flanked by a woman, other than Belen, apparently, whom I spend more time putting in her place than anything else. It’s either that or Tatiana’s otherworldly beauty interfering with his response time.
“Ethan?”
“Sir. Yes, I honestly can’t tell. He’s fine with either, I guess?”
I’m getting more worried by the second. “Have you had a convo about his expectations of the shoot?”
“We have, and all I can say is he’s ready. He’s hanging in his room until it’s time.”
I tighten my lips, grimacing out my disbelief. “So, you’re saying Troy has the choice between three of my top actresses, and he has no preference whatsoever as to which one he’s going to sleep with on-screen?”
“That is what he’s saying,” Tatiana murmurs behind me. I send her a surprised look before I turn back to Ethan.
“Who does Gianni see with him?”
“Belen, sir.”
“All right. Get her ready.”
Ethan is as unreadable as I expect after an almost dress-down by his boss when he says, “Oh, she is.”
“How ready?”
“She’s one hundred percent dolled up. But since Troy’s in his room doing his thing, she’s… busy in makeup.”
Shit. Okay. “She’s terrorizing Maureen.”
Ethan lets out a dry chuckle. “Right, or Maureen’s babysitting her. Belen commits less damage in the chair than out and about.”
I turn and catch the amusement in Tatiana’s eyes. It’s the moment I realize there’s nothing more beautiful than ice queens when they suppress their laughter.
I’ve been pacing the second floor, waiting for Bo and Nadia’s session to be over. It’s been hours, and so far no rockers or rock-star wives have stomped off. That’s good, of course. Still, I prefer more detail when I’m paying for the festivities.
Tatiana’s been with me the whole time, stoically absorbing my tension while I responded to Felix and Il Lince. Shit’s fucking going down out there, and here we are, tucked away in the mountains. I’ve been through wild times before, but these might be the worst so far.
From the set, slight murmurs have sieved through the walls. I haven’t been able to decipher them. At one point, Gianni poked his head out to ask for speakers. He wanted to broadcast “Fuck You,” Bo’s homage to Nadia during his time as a walking heartbreak to his female fans. Apparently, he wrote it to let off steam while he fought to win over his wife. Poetic?
Their door’s opening. Gianni turns off the spotlights, starting in the back, and I faintly register the sun as it sets through the window behind him. My guests haven’t eaten in a while. Italians know how to appease hungry stomachs, though, so I already have the ovens steaming.
“Just in time. Good,” I say, slamming my hands together. “We’ve got from-scratch Neapolitan pizzas layered with tomatoes, garlic, buffalo mozzarella straight from Campania, freshly cut basil, and one hundred percent virgin olive oil from Sicily. For the meat lover, we’ve added prosciutto, smoked the authentic way with just the right amount of baked-in, crusted pepper.”
Nadia has the dazed look of someone who’s just stepped off a rollercoaster. Shaky with endorphins, she’s glad it’s over and wishing it wasn’t.
“Can you smell it?” I ask, bringing them gently back to Earth.
Bo nods, exchanging a glance with Nadia, and she smiles. “It smells delicious.”
In the kitchen, Tatiana’s eyes meet mine. A flash of joy goes off in them, and I know what she’s thinking even before she whispers it to me. “Enjoy this. Don’t do what you do, plot tomorrow’s success instead of enjoying tonight.”
I chew on the disappointment over my missing piece, Aishe Xodyar. Then I reply, “Yes, ma’am.”
My ice queen and I share the last piece of olive-crusted pizza. It’s still hot from the oven. On the other side, Nadia sinks into Bo’s embrace, their foreheads meeting in a twosome that seems even deeper than before. Moral-benders can do that to you.
Gianni enters, looking for Troy. He’s not here. My knee jiggles, premonition setting off.
“He’s in his room,” Belen mutters. “He just came and grabbed a slice, and that was it.” She scrunches her nose up and puckers her mouth in disgust. “I mean, does he even like women?”
I ignore her, directing my request to Gianni. “Check if he’s ready to go.”
“I’ll do it,” Belen says.
“No, Gianni will do it. You need to get back in makeup. Maureen?”
Maureen takes a last sip of soda and stands. “Come on, honey, I’ll fix your lipstick.” She brushes Belen’s hair to the side and considers her face while Belen glares me down. “A little powder, and you’ll be good to go.”
“Ha, I’ll make that man roar,” Belen says.
Troy’s set doesn’t channel a home. The bed and the knickknacks surrounding it suggest a sterile but high-class hotel room worthy of a star. At the moment, he’s sitting on the mattress, emotions withdrawn. His eyes are safari-green against the dark gold of his skin. With dreadlocks reaching far down over sculpted pecs, he’s a vision of the kind I want on film.
Gianni has him bare-chested and in grey sweatpants low on his hips. He’s leaning back on the mattress, chin tipped up a little, oozing seduction without trying. Our cameras will be making some serious love to this man.
“Let’s get it over with,” he mutters to Ethan when he passes.
“Okay. You’re good with Belen then?” Ethan asks again, seeming more unsure of this take than of any I’ve seen.
“As good as any” is his answer.
“Great.” Gianni enters and shakes Troy’s hand. “Remember, you’re supposed to have fun. That’s what it’s all about.”
There’s a car in the driveway. McRoy knows enough to be alarmed. I check my phone and find a text from Felix.
One of your actresses is on the way up, Aishe Xodyar. She’s clean.
I look up from my phone. Show it to Tatiana, then to Gianni, before I turn and face Troy on the bed. “We’ve got a few minutes’ delay, but I promise it’ll be worth it.”