6. JOB
GIOELE
I wake up with something tickling my stomach. It moves upward like flies—or maybe something bigger, like a Japanese beetle. It’s gross, but I don’t open my eyes until I hear, “Hey-y-y, hot stuff. Are you awake?”
Do I look awake?
I scrunch my eyes around the thundering in my head. I like the feel of it. It really nails how fucked up my shit is. Oh, right. I brought the redheaded bartender home.
Someone with a deeper voice groans. Wait. Raul slept over with a few girls. I don’t have a second bedroom, but I have extra blankets. I believe they used one side of my bed while Redhead and I did gymnastics on my side. At a certain point, there, I was regretting my choice; the smaller blonde he brought along was nimble. Could have worked for Cirque du Soleil, actually. Hey, maybe she does?
“No.” I clear my throat and blink against the daylight pouring in through my window. No one thought of the blinds, I guess. I remain on my back. Rest my head in my hands and stare down my body at the offending tickles. It’s the redhead’s fingers. She’s walking them up and down my stomach?
“Sound like you are to me-e.” She bats her eyes. They’re surrounded by mascara gone grey.
“What are you doing?” I ask, jutting my chin toward the ridiculous puppet theater on my stomach. She starts stroking the fur leading down to my cock. This I approve of.
“Just checking out your abs. You’re freaking ripped. So hot.” She does that thing many women do, where they tip their heads to the side and pucker their mouths like they’re about to air-kiss you. I’m not a fan.
“All right,” I say and get a glimpse of Raul on the floor. He’s with one girl only, and they’re sleeping entwined on the carpet. I could have sworn I gave him some blankets. Cirque du Soleil Girl is missing. Ha, perhaps she took the blankets when she left? “I’ve got work,” I tell Redhead, “so I need to get going. You want another round first?”
One of her puppet-hands walk down my trail and fishes out my loyal soldier from beneath the duvet. He’s in full salute mode. We’re both happy when she pumps him a few times and watches his head glisten in anticipation.
“Yes, please.” She bites her lip. “I’d love another round.”
I give her a smile and flip her to her back.
Isaias has called me twice, and it’s not even nine in the morning. I love my brother, but if my father’s controlling, Isaias is worse. Ma believes it’s in the Nascimbeni blood. Problem is, he can’t do shit from where he is, unless he decides to sic his watchdogs on me. He’s been known to do that before, more specifically on our cousin, Gabriela. For now, I’ve been spared, but only because I’m used to having more of a beef with our father than with him.
I might have been drunk when we talked yesterday, but I wasn’t kidding. There isn’t much I care about at the moment, and I need distractions. Perfect if the distractions can pay bills and get me off at the same time.
He calls me again while I’m in the car.
“Mornin’,” I say.
“Gioele. I got a hold of Cyndi Brewer, the director of Supreme Modeling. I sent her some photos of you, and she wants to meet up in person. She’s looking for a type at the moment—long, dark, wavy hair and a killer body—her words, so the timing is good. She has openings at one and five p.m. What works for you?”
Yeah, that’s my brother for you. He doesn’t ask. He manipulates until he gets things his way.
“One,” I reply.
He’s quiet for a second, trying to decide if I’m tricking him. “That works for you?”
“Sure, send me the address, and I’ll check her out.” I have no intention of going.
“So you’ve changed your mind since yesterday? You’re not heading to Harmony Femme now?”
“You’re an ass for not giving me work at your own studio, brother, but sure; if I can earn a living off this modeling thing, I’m good.”
“All right. Well, you’ll thank me later for not letting you get on film.”
“Coolio.”
I call Silvina as soon as we hang up. Her voicemail is sweet, cutting up the message with a small inward breath that always turns me on. Belatedly, I remember that she’s in class already. “Hi Ina mia. Just checking to see how you are. Let me know if you need anything. Tell me you’ve had breakfast today,” I add last minute. Then, like I always do, “Ti amo.”
I park outside a three-story townhouse at the upper end of Lunar Heights. It’s a gorgeous area, no doubt about it, with fluffy green trees on the curb, the way we don’t see much of in the Valley anymore. The building itself is blue. Silvina would call it “faded cobalt.” She’s always been all about the colors. She likes to paint in her spare time.
I trot up the wooden steps, five of them, until I’m on an intricate balcony. The woodwork reminds me of doilies of the kind la nonna, my grandmother, puts everywhere.
An elegant golden plaque to the left of the door reads, “Harmony Femme.” I press the buzzer next to it.
Inside, old wooden floors have been restored to former glory. A white counter that’s high enough to hide most of the assistant behind it comes next. She’s got blonde hair twisted up in some knot, and dark-rimmed glasses. She’s not particularly pretty, but the coral color of her lips works for me. Also, she’s got a nice rack.
“Hi there. I called this morning about auditioning?” I did. And they turned me down. I figured it was worth it to come up here anyway.
The girl sighs. Lifts her face slowly. Until she sees me. Then she starts to blink behind those glasses.
I cross my arms and lean over the counter. That could be intimidating for some, but she rolls her chair back while she keeps blinking at me.
“I’m aware you’ve got official auditions in February, but I’m more of an impulse guy. I’m real fucking good in the sack, and now’s a good time for me.” I shrug. “I’m a student, so I can’t get off whenever.”
She’s done seeing me, it appears, because now she straightens in her chair, plants her elbows on the armrests, and her gaze flows from flustered to steel in five seconds. Fuck, I love that.
I tilt my head, waiting for her to throw me out. Sure, I want to do this—work as a porn star—but there’s always the temporary rush of being thrown out face first.
“Mister...?” She stands slowly, quietly seething. I grin and open my arms at her.
“Gioele di Nascimbeni, but Gioele to friends.”
“Mister di Nascimbeni. I’ll check if Mister Cuevas is available.”
“What’s Mister Cuevas’ first name?” I ask, pissing her off more. Oddly, she answers.
“Keegan. It’s Mister Keegan Cuevas, the owner of Harmony Femme.” She tips her head up, sniffing righteously. That’s actually cute. I’d do her in one of their films. Or drunk.
She makes a polite gesture toward a sitting area with some plants and a couple of loveseats covered in blue, industry-strength fabric. Then, she turns on her heel and doesn’t stop until she gets to the last door by an elevator.
The area is intimate, so she hears me fine when I ask, “If he’s busy, I can always come back. Just not in February. Exams, you know.” She sends me a death glare, and I let out a happy sigh because shit like this makes me feel good.
She knocks. A muffled “come in” sieves out before she enters. I don’t hear the words, but the guy inside is disgruntled about the interruption. She objects, which is funny considering how she already hates me. He grumbles some more. Then the door widens, and she walks out first, cheeks flushed with the effort she put in for me. Her next death glare lasts only seconds, but she still registers the smirk I’m giving her.
God, this headache. I need a Bloody Mary.
The guy saunters out of that office, hands in his dress-pant pockets. White shirt open a few buttons down, no tie. I snort inwardly while unbuttoning the four first buttons of my own shirt.
He doesn’t take long to notice me either. I have that effect on people. For a second, he halts, but then he moves forward, the originally glum expression wiped off his face.
“Hi there.” He stretches out a hand, eyes roving down my chest and back up again. I’m not into guys, but it’s not hard to notice when you’d have game with someone. That’s not the case with Keegan. His is the look my brother has when he sees something he likes for his business. It’s that of an expert, detecting opportunity and not sex for the sex itself. “Mister di Nascimbeni?”
“Yes, sir.” My smile is less over-the-top than with his assistant.
“Why do I know that name?” His eyebrows are thick and dark. He’s been doing some shaping on them, though. Makes me think he probably manscapes too. I don’t. Or, I guess I will now.
“Not sure,” I lie. “You spent any time in Italy? It’s a common name in the old country.”
“Ah. I’ve been to Rome for business a few times. Got a couple of Italian studs.”
“Studs, huh?” I choke the urge to laugh, but he notices, and his eyes light up too.
“You find that funny? Between the actual job and the need to be extremely good-looking to make it at Harmony Femme…” He shrugs, leaving the rest for me to fill in.
“Makes sense. You got a minute?”
He arches his brows in approval. “Sure. Anything to drink?”
“Actually, yes. I’m jonesing for a Bloody Mary,” I say. “Hectic night last night.”
He rumbles an entertained laugh. “I think we can help you with that. Carrie? Make it two Bloody Marys. Celery?” he asks me.
“Of course!” I do say that with gusto, because I haven’t had breakfast yet.
In his office, he waves me toward a small glass balcony with two cushioned armchairs separated by a table.
“So.” He cracks his knuckles and sets an all-business stare on me. “What can I do for you today—Gioele? Did I say that right?”
“Sure, yeah. People call me Gio—Joe, if you will.”
“That doesn’t sound right.”
“Not my favorite, no.” I feel my nostrils flare with humor. “Anyway, I’m here for a job.”
“Yeah, receptionist?”
Definitely has a sense of humor.
“Not exactly. I’m a sucker for chicks, love to fuck, and I have no issue getting it up on command.”
He nods thoughtfully. Carrie slides the door open, clacks in on soft heels, and unloads our drinks. I thank her, greedily grabbing mine. I draw spicy tomato pulp in through the straw while he waits for his assistant to leave.
“It takes a little more than that,” he says once she’s gone. “Can you keep it up?”
I snort. “Hell yeah, however long you want.”
“Shy in public?”
“Fuck, no. I came straight here from a small orgy,” I exaggerate. If there’s something I know, it’s how to play up my good sides.
“Okay.” He rubs his chin, which is meticulously shaved. Even so, it’s got a grey dusting of back-to-back shadow from one ear to the other, covering the entire area around his mouth up to his nostrils. “Drop your pants.”
I take a second to catch what he’s implying. Which is exactly what he says.
“You want to see my cock?” I ask.
“Sure. And the rest of it.”
I unbutton my pants and start on the zipper. “The rest of it? Balls, ass?”
“Right.”
I grin; it’s not often I get to show off for a guy. I’ve had plenty of girls awestruck, but I’m about to be examined by an expert. Should be interesting.
I do what he asks. Drop my pants to my ankles, shimmying my boxers down for effect. Come to think of it, I should’ve worn briefs. Chicks think they’re sexier. Although he’s not a chick.
“Wow. Impressive.” He nods, studying my dick from the other side of the table. I grab my Bloody Mary and suck down some more. Angle the celery stick to my mouth and crunch down while he stares at me. “Turn around.”
I do. Fucking flex my ass at him too while I suppress a snort.
“You realize you’d have to get rid of some hair, right?”
“Sure, yeah. Just around my cock and the balls, right? Or ass too?” I ask.
“Ass too. Turn again.”
I do.
“You’re not what I’d call furry, but for the cameras, we want it smooth.”
“I’m good with that.”
“All right, then.” He leans back in his chair, the wicker creaking as he does, eyes rising to my face again. “Now, get it up.”
“What? As in… get horny on command without a girl around?”
“That a problem?”
I shrug. “Nah, just making sure. Keegan. Can I call you that?”
“Absolutely.” He rocks a little in his chair and lifts his glass. His gaze sinks again until it’s level with my dick. I’m not an exhibitionist. I have no qualms with people watching me, though.
“All right, Keegan, watch and learn,” I say, smirking. I look out the window, over the bay. The sky has the stormy blue of rain about to seep in, but it’s not what I see. I see my girl. My beautiful girl. My Silvina, the way her heart throbbed under fine ribs and olive skin when my hands warmed her and made a trail down to her secret place.
The years don’t matter. My Ina-mia memory is photographic, and the intensity of being with her will never leave me. When I’m an old, senile man, I’ll still remember how she was.
“Twelve seconds. It’s fine.” Keegan says it like it’s not exactly what he hoped for.
“I have a hangover,” I say.
“Right. So more than fine. I do expect my people to stay on the good side of alcohol and drugs, though.”
“For sure, man.”
“Can you come on demand?”
I frown at that. “I’d be a fucking teenager if I did.”
That makes him laugh out loud. “No, not without touching yourself. I want to know how well you control yourself.”
“Ah.” I think back to Silvina and me. Our first times together, with me having to pull back and close my eyes, shutting out everything beautiful about her to not come on our first touch. I consider the way I’ve held off for her for hours, keeping her at the brink of ecstasy all night. Then, driving her through euphoria after euphoria until she begged for mercy and begged me to come too. “I have plenty control. My guess is your guys don’t have a problem coming quickly, yes? It’s rather the opposite?”
He bites his lip like I’ve caught him. That’s ridiculous. He’s the owner of a billion-dollar company. “Well, I’d like to know both. I want my director to be able to point at you and say, ‘she’s about to come. I want you to come with her.’ I also want him to say, ‘Hold back. You’re going to have sex with the rest of the girls before you come.’”
“No problem. You want me to come right now?” I take a hold of my junk and point it at him, ready to go for it.
“No, that’s okay. Leave your info with Carrie, and I’ll have her call you when I have a girl for you. I’d like you to audition before the end of the week.”
I wink. “I’d like that too.”
Amused, he just shakes his head. “I might regret this.”
“Meh.” I give him a thumbs-up. “We’ll do business together just fine.”
We shake hands, and he returns to his office while I fill out forms and leave my way short resume with his receptionist. As I pick up my jacket and wrangle inside it to leave, he emerges again, pace slow but deliberate toward me.
“Not sure what took me so long, but your last name, Gioele. You share it with the owner of Lucid Entertainment.” He lets his eyes rove over me the way he did when I just entered. “Family?”
“Sort of.”
“Isaias di Nascimbeni’s in his late twenties. You’re about twenty. Twenty-one.” He purses his lips. “Brother?”
“Yep.”
“Fuck. Well. How come you’re not working for him?”
“Because my brother’s holier-than-thou.”