11: XXX

 The Comet was gone but not forgotten. It vanished, like electrical fairy-elves came and swept it under the carpet. I felt totally out of touch with the production, not that I was ever actually in touch with them, nor would I have wanted to be. But for it to disappear like that, right out from under my nose without my knowing about it-- made me feel yanked.
 I was tired of it all. Oh, there was still more work to be done, more rigs to go in, returns to make, but I wasn't interested. I was there physically for a while, thoroughly detached and angry. I would play the game, but from here on in I refused to be captain.
 Others stepped up. There were plenty in the ranks seeking promotion, but I could only take so much. Eventually, I'd demoted myself to a set of gloves; I refused to make any decisions, and merely stood by and followed procedures.
 Thorpe could sense my reluctance, not to mention having to dodge my hostility. We finally had occasion to talk about it, prompted by him getting in my way and initiated with my derogatory remarks. I knew there was no way this could have a happy ending. We had our words, and it was agreed I was no longer doing him much good and wasn't happy working there.
 Thorpe conceded to let me off the hook. I didn't regret my decision, but I did miss a few days of work, and now I found myself out looking for a job. I hit the telephone to spread the news about how I prematurely became available.
 Surprised as some were to see me exit, others felt it was long overdue. I had seen many of my friends leave before me, and now I had had enough. I decided I would rather be a part of those frustrated deserters than to have finished the show. Finishing meant enduring lying about what a good time it was after all, how we endured, and how we were better for it.
 It wasn't, we didn't, and we weren't. It was a drag. I never worked more consistently, made less money, and had more expenses than on Deep Impact. I promised myself I would never do that to me or Laura again. It had a profound effect on my life and our relationship. We had become nameless, faceless automatons in a gigantic, senseless machine. I felt the urge to discover my self again.
 That was what I dreaded most about full-time employment-- the loss of connection with nature, surrendering to an uncompromising production schedule. The subtle undulations of life were invisible when rushing to the studio or location. I preferred to take my time, and give some thought to the details. Only then, perhaps, could you begin to see the cosmic paradigm.
 Being unemployed gave me time to myself. Unfortunately, I had bills to pay, and did not reap the lion's share on Impact. In the past I had been picky about the work I would accept, but not this time; now I would be taking anything I could get.
 The first call came from Steve-O. He was notifying me that he had just referred me for a job, and I might soon be receiving a call for tomorrow. "Excellent!" I told him, and thanks. It couldn't have come at a better time.
 "Yeah, dude--" Steve-O continued, "It's a smoker!"
 "A smoker?" I asked.
 "Yeah, you know-- a porno!"
 "Ooohh!!"
 Steve-O had recently gotten in touch with an old work-buddy of ours who gripped with us back at Corman's, Bruce Albertson. Bruce was an ex-Navy jarhead, a goofball, and a good worker. We had done a few of Corman's low-budget pics together, but he had later foregone his opportunity to join the union in favor of the porno lifestyle. Now he regularly worked in production on almost exclusively adult films-- he even went to Hawaii on a job last year! I was looking forward to seeing him, and was curious to hear some of the wild porno stories he was notorious for telling.
 The calls for this type of job inevitably came around, if you worked non-union, outside of the major studio circuit. I had labored on numerous soft-core films of the cable television variety in my past, amongst the other exploitative genres. It was a fine line; these were often not a far cry from what Roger Corman was producing in Venice.
 Being exposed to nudity was a part of the job we often had to endure. In one scene for Caged Heat 3000, I was pushing the camera dolly in a locker room shower with twelve naked women! Only myself and two from the camera crew were there to witness the scene, for everyone else it was a closed set. Those girls were unintimidated, though-- something to be said for strength in numbers. They had a way of making us, the dressed ones, feel self-conscious and embarrassed.
 I had the occasion to do a film with the international adult star Marilyn Chambers on one of her productions before I left New York for California. It was soft-core, as she had by now graduated above the hardcore stuff that made her name, and aged a few years in the process. These were fake-fuck films, with lots of ooohhing and aaahhing and rubbing up and down beneath the covers. The funniest part was at the end of the shoot, when it came to recording the wild sound (an ambient non-synch track to overlay on the picture). Marilyn took her place beside the microphone, and the sound recordist said "roll sound." On came the vocals like a tidal wave of pleasure, rising excitement, building to a climax no doubt inspired by experience from the past queen of porn.
 When the breathless sighs subsided, exhausted and spent, the recordist finally called "Cut!" Then the cast and crew burst into hearty applause, remembering what made her so famous as she smiled and threw on her long fur coat and left the building. After all, she wasn't just an actress anymore-- now she was also a producer.
 I had been around the block a few times, yes. I had even worked with legends in this domain. Still, I had never actually witnessed hardcore for the camera. Now it looked like I was going to.
 The hours passed by and the call never came. I tried Bruce several times, at home and on pager, but to no avail. I knew I might get a frantic early morning cry to come in, I know how showbusiness can be. Still no dice-- tomorrow came, I paged Bruce again, and finally he returned my call. "Sorry, dude," he said, "at the last minute they decided to go with the regular guy that works at the stage."
 Bummer for me, I had gotten my hopes up. I needed the job, and was curious about this sub-culture within the entertainment business. From my past experiences, I knew such things were very un-exciting, and rather, well, technical. Two people performing naked for a camera is far more complex than performing to please themselves. Not today though.
 Instead I did some errands and biked around the neighborhood, visited with friends, and enjoyed the luxury of a day to myself. I got a call that day from Thorpe-- he asked me to come back and work another day on Deep Impact! He was having trouble finding guys to work so could I please come in to help wrap. Yes, I said, and I gave in because I could truly use every dollar that I could earn. It turned out to be a three-and-a-half hour wrap, home before noon, and paid for eight. Talk about getting your cake and eating it too.
 Came the weekend, and Laura and I had another one of those talks, you know the ones where your stomach is tied in knots and your brain feels like a hydrogen bomb about to explode? Relationships in the twenty-first century had a lot of evolutionary catching up to do. Here we were, two upwardly mobile people in a competitive business with no time for each other as long as we were pursuing advancement. There was just not enough hours in a day, and could someone please stop the earth from rotating so quickly because we need more than just twenty-four. Five months after Deep Impact started, I'm wound up like a top, and I feel like I don't even know who the girl I'm living with is.
 Laura had recently taken a full-time position assisting the Senior Executive Vice-President of MGM's legal department, so she wouldn't be getting kicked around floating anymore. Now she was making more than the other assistants she had previously worked for, and this exec was willing to work with her aspiring acting career, so it was an offer she couldn't refuse. But with privilege comes responsibility, and this was no exception.
 I noticed most of the studio execs seemed to have some social dysfunctionality-- this was what I gathered from the information Laura would bring home, and the headspin she would be in every day. Her boss seemed to be an anomaly, a dolphin in the sea of sharks. She had had other offers for other permanent positions, but this was the first she had really considered. Most of the other execs she couldn't even bear to temp for.
 Laura's new position kept her very busy, and she was placed high in the social circle of this small sharkcage. It seemed like every weekend we'd have another party to go to, and I found myself slowly becoming acquainted with the next-in-lines for the studio deals. The more I saw the faces of the people behind the desks, the people who were making the important decisions, the more I couldn't believe how glib and uneducated in the field and impressionable they truly were.
 Oh, some were nice, and some were competent-- Laura made them her friends, so we could weed out the riff-raff from the soon-to-be's. It seemed to me that that was what Hollywood was truly about-- trying to grasp permanence in an extremely flighty and ephemeral state. Especially with actors and creative types.
 Educational as it was, all of Laura's business was seeming like a distraction from work I needed to be doing. I felt like our connection in personal pursuits was being lost, and we rarely came together on anything, except studio issues. We were two strangers living in the same house. The weekends came, we'd outline what we needed to do individually, and whatever time was left over we'd get together in.
 This weekend was more of the same. Friday night we went to a barbecue in Venice with her friends from MGM, to celebrate the 27th birthday of an executive assistant who was dear to her. It was fun for a while, an intimate gathering of nice people, including several attractive young ladies I had interesting rapport with. I told Laura on the way home, "I always get kind of a funny feeling at your parties..." I told her, "Like the guys are all hitting on you, and the girls are all hitting on me."
 "Yeah, I know," she replied, "but at least the girls are all cute."
 We got home, and she was a bit buzzed, and I wasn't. I was tired from being up at 5A.M. for work that morning, and still somewhat resentful of my ever-absentee girlfriend. What would have ordinarily been a beautiful night became an ordeal enduring into the wee hours of morning, discussing where we went wrong, baring truths about what we love and hate, and how much we can put up with. Another one of those instances where I would rather scream a few obscenities than go through with it and pretend what a great time it was, when there are much greater problems underlying. I was beginning to feel like I may never make it in Hollywood if I couldn't be deceitful-- but not with Laura. We were determined to squeeze the truth out.
 Saturday came and we stayed in and made breakfast, which was unusual and domestic. She wanted an omelette and I wanted pancakes, typically unresolute. We went with it, she making hers, and I making mine. We went shopping and that night she cooked a fantastic dinner, then went to bed early. Laura lay beside me as we both drifted to sleep, and I could slowly feel the connection being restored.
 The ringing came abruptly, and we both jumped from the bed. She had the phone in her hand, but did not put it to her ear-- instead she gave it to me. It was a good reflex, since she was incoherent in the morning, and a slow waker-upper. I looked at the clock. It said eleven, but it was still dark-- which meant we had only just gone to sleep. I shook it off and answered wearily, trying not to disturb Laura, who would be back in dreamland by now.
 "I'm really sorry to be calling so late, Jack, but can you work tomorrow?" It was Bruce, I recognized his voice from having just spoken with him the day before.
 "Yeah, I can work, what is it?" was my reply. My brain was doing double-duty, trying to think what day it was, was I available tomorrow, and listen to what he was saying at the same time.
 "Just a skin flick. It's at Tracey Studios at 8A.M." I heard him say.
 I was thinking even quicker now-- tomorrow is Sunday, not really a work-day, but it didn't really seem like work, from what I gathered. Set up a few lights and watch them get busy-- not exactly cinema. I was looking forward to spending the day with Laura, but she had her acting group that night and lots to do during the day. Then came the hammer-- I needed the money. Rent was just a week away.
 "What's the rate?" I asked. "Is it cash?" I quickly added.
 "It's a check, but they pay at the end of the job. Two-hundred for twelve. I'm sorry to call at the last minute, I know it's late, but--"
 "Forget it, don't worry about it, Bruce-- I'll cover you. It's at Tracey? 8A.M.?"
 "That's right-- Tracey Studios at 8A.M. The gaffer's name is Jim."
 "Okay dude, I'll be there-- and thanks!" We agreed to talk and get together, since I was replacing him and he wouldn't be there tomorrow.
 It wasn't a great rate, below the scale I had become accustomed to, but I had psyched myself up to do it. Most guys would be stoked to be working on the big-time hundred-million dollar movies, but I had done all that. It would be fun to be in a new arena. I didn't know what to expect, and I liked that feeling. But what would I tell Laura?
 I thought she might feel threatened by my being involved in the creation of pornographic materials. I just told her it was a video as I snuck out the next morning, promising I'd call with more details. Behind heavy eyelids she understood, but was upset to see me go so early.
 I thought about our situation more as I sped off to the stage. Driving to work early in the morning on a Sunday is like an apocalypse dream in L.A.; the place looks so surreal with no cars on the road. For a moment I felt guilty, like I was doing something wrong.
 I thought about Laura when I first met her at Panavision, on the camera test for Grace Of My Heart. Twenty years old, and two weeks out of Texas. She couldn't even get a drink in this town. "L.A. is sure gonna change you," I told her, and boy was I right. I just didn't realize that I would be at the center of it.
 I got out at the downtown exit for Tracey, pulled up and parked. The place looked empty, but it was 8A.M. on Sunday-- everyplace looked like this now. I only saw one other car pull up. A girl in a skirt got out. I wondered if I was in the right place, though she was too far to ask. She drifted off toward a further entrance as I went into a close one.
 I remembered Tracey Studios from some other low-budget shows I had done a while back, prior to joining the union. As I stepped inside it all began to look too familiar. I could remember setting lights on some low-budget flick that I never found in release. That show took us as far as Elko Nevada, a one-horse gambling town some hours north of Las Vegas.
 That was an epic trip, to a town swimming in liquor, with legalized gambling and prostitution as your liferaft to hold on to. There I made friends with a true-to-life cowboy who invited me to his ranch in Utah, where I spent the Thanksgiving of 1994 with he and his girlfriend's family in true mountain-country style. I even learned to saddle a horse, and was soon riding figure-eights in a 20'x30' corral. There I experienced the true nuances of horse-and-rider connection from a man who had driven herds across the country.
 It was becoming clear to me that it was out there that the battle was fought, and the medals were garnished. In the real, vast, and untapped frontier, however rapidly diminishing it may be. There were new horizons coming into view and new mindscapes in which to dwell, all of which needed to become apparent and proven marketable in reality before they would materialize in popular cinema. And now I was trapped in Hollywood and finding it difficult to escape.
 Tracey Studios was silent and empty. The place is like a maze, an old, run-down building with lots of rooms. I walked around, but could see no evidence of a production company or an arrival of such. Finally I came across the girl I had seen earlier from the parking lot-- her name was Eileen.
 "So are you gonna get naked today?" she asked.
 "I don't think so," was my reply, "are you?"
 "I'm just background. There's supposed to be, like, fifteen of us."
 "Oh."
 We could find no trace of any of the others. Steve-O had told me they were kind of slack on arriving at call time, but this was getting ridiculous. I spoke with Eileen some more about the adult film industry, she seemed to be just as curious as I was. It wasn't until later that day sometime that I realized we were both an hour earlier than everyone else because of daylight savings time, and our own miscalculations. Finally, by my time of 9A.M., the crew started to drift in.
 Everyone had that hung-over look of partying all night long, not uncommon in the entertainment business. I tried to be overtly friendly, it had been a while since I was the "new guy on set," and not knowing what to expect put me a little bit out of my element.
 Everyone was amiable and receptive, much more so than in the union studio business. It reminded me of the old non-union shows I used to work, where everyone was horribly mistreated yet still clung together to stick through it instead of turning on one another. Those were the days of paying dues, when you really had to show what you were made of to learn the craft.
 This group had the demeanor of a bunch of thieves, with a strict code of honor they abide by. "We work in porno, because we can do things like this!" I heard some technical chieftain say regarding some shoddy workmanship in a rigging endeavor. "If it falls down we can all laugh about it!" Ironically, in the next moment it almost fell on me! I decided I would be more careful, and make safety more paramount than usual here, since no one else was. Dangerous, yes, but fun!
 "Are you working with us today?" I heard a voice ask me from behind, as I stepped off the truck to help set us up for the first shot.
 "Yes, I'm Jack, I'm working with the lighting department," I said in response, extending my hand.
 "Hello, I'm P.J., welcome," he said as we shook, and I thought I recognized him. He was one of those original porn stars from the seventies that endured, and now had his own production and distribution outfit.
 "Yeah, I know, this is your show, right?"
 "That's right."
 "Cool-- then I'll try to follow your lead." I was showing respect, since he'd be writing my check. He seemed like a nice enough guy, it was the least I could do.
 "Alright-- actually, you follow Jim's lead, since you're with the lighting department."
 "Right on!" I replied. He made me feel comfortable by leaving me to my own department, and wasn't just fishing for ass-kissing, like so many Hollywood types do. He had won my respect that quickly. I could sense something different about this setup already. I appreciated his sincerity, like having a good feeling amongst us was more important than the work we were there to do. An altogether too uncommon experience in the film industry, putting people before product. I wondered who it was that said that all porn producers are sleaze, and had they ever met any legit producers?
 Jim, the gaffer, kept me running all day. I was waiting for someone to take their clothes off, but it wasn't happening. There were several scenes to be shot with the background extras, all dialogue stuff. It wasn't some group sex grope with lots of witnesses, as my fantastic imagination might have surmised. All this second-unit type footage took us right up until lunch. I couldn't remember the last time I had worked this frantically as an operator-- but I was having fun!
 Lunch didn't have a vegetarian selection, but I didn't complain, and I really didn't mind just eating the side-dish vegetables. An Indian girl, Tasha, came and sat with me. I remembered overhearing her say to another that she read palms, so I asked her if she would read mine. She agreed, and after lunch I was the second person in the line that was quickly forming to have their palms read.
 There is something about the occult that has always fascinated me. It seemed to always eschew truisms on me, and keep me on the right path. Though I never fully sought it out (it's not like I have an astrologer I see regularly or call the tele-psychic hotlines) it always seemed to find me at the most opportune times.
 My turn came, and Tasha looked at my palm with the intensity of Madame Rosa and her crystal ball. She held it in her hands, positioning it in the light, moving it around to best see the lines of portent. It was like she was looking through a window as she spoke, occasionally looking back into the room to meet my eyes and tell me what she saw.
 "What's that-- wait-- did you have a sickness as a child?" I thought back to my childhood as she said this. It was a little sick, for sure, but I don't really remember-- wait, fast forward to college years, and the Epstein-Barr incident. I told her about it, explained it to the group that was waiting their turns with interest. I didn't know if that qualified as childhood, but sometimes these things are a little vague.
 "How old are you?" she asked. When I told her I was thirty it seemed to clear things up a bit, and we pressed on. She pointed to a scar at the base of my palm that just plain intercepted two of the major palm lines there. I explained that I got it when I fell during a tackle in a recreational football game. I landed right on a piece of glass that cut my hand open and left a nasty line. That added to the confusion.
 "You have come a long way..." she continued. That was no secret, though most people who didn't know me took me for an Angelino or Southern California native unless they had seen me at my worst, in which case it becomes quite evident I have a whole lot of New York in me. Or if I'm tired, when traces of a New York accent can be detected in my speech. I confirmed her assertion-- she was surprised to learn that I was from New York.
 I asked her to look at my lifeline. "Will I live a long, full life?" I said. It was too late, but I suddenly had the feeling I might have broken one of the cardinal rules, and was sorry I did. That could be tempting fate, and who wants to be the bearer of bad news. She handled it real smooth, though, and I believe she was genuine. A palm, while a fine indicator of destiny's course, is not exactly a detailed roadmap.
 "I can't tell how long you will live, but I can tell you have an excellent quality of life-- you live life to the fullest." I certainly tried, also not a secret, but this girl didn't know me from Adam. Then we started getting into the good stuff-- relationships.
 She looked at my hand for a while, then looked up at me with some surprise. "You've had lots of relationships."
 I looked around, blushed a little-- not recently I hadn't, but I certainly did in my life. No point in being prudish with this crowd. "You could say that..." I let on a little, but didn't want to give it all away.
 "You're very independent... And... You keep secrets." She looked at me again, with discovery in her eyes. She seemed to be more intrigued the more she looked into my palm. It certainly intrigued me-- and it was all very true. I thought about the secret I was keeping today, that I was going to work on an adult film. Small secrets, granted, but I think we all have them. It's a part of my private, individual self-- that's a difficult bit to give up.
 Then she went even further. "And you sometimes say things that hurt people," she added. Damn it, what was I, wearing a billboard? You had to know me to experience that, and it was probably the thing I hated most about myself. And there it was, written on my palm.
 Jim was sitting nearby and waiting his turn. He now took a second look at his palm, questioning whether he wanted to know what his palm had to say, and whether or not he wanted everyone else to know. He shrugged, got up and walked away with perfect timing for comic relief. I suddenly felt like I was in the hot-seat. Oh, well-- go for broke. I popped the question.
 "Do you see... More relationships, or... A more steady relationship?" There I went, playing with fire again. I never let on that I had a girlfriend-- what did my palm say?
 "FIVE MINUTES UNTIL WE'RE BACK!!" The AD was screaming, alerting everyone of the impending return to work. I took it as a cue, I had a call to make, and I thought I had heard enough.
 "Maybe I should give someone else a try-- thanks."
  I got up, and the next in line took the seat, and I went off to call Laura as lunch ran on. P.J. was doing an interview with some new adult news magazine format show regarding the recent mainstream release Boogie Nights about the porno industry in the '70's, and it wound up being a long lunch hour anyway.
 Laura and I spoke briefly and I explained the shoot could go late, that's how these low-budget videos are and she understood. She had her acting group that night, so she would be busy anyhow. I figured we'd probably both get in about the same time.
 I got off the phone and Jim came around looking for me. "Justin has some notes for the next set-up, so why don't you go fall in with him," he said, and off I went running. It was kind of nice to have a purpose, and I found myself enjoying lamp-operating and being around the camera for a change.
 Early in the day, Jim had introduced me to the "eighty-twenty rule." It went something like this: It takes twenty-percent of the time to do the first eighty-percent of the work, the major bulk of the project. It takes the remaining eighty-percent of the time to do the last twenty-percent of the work, the fine finishing touches. This made a lot of sense to me, and there was no truer place for a rule like this to exist than the film industry. This Jim guy was sloppy, but he made some sense-- I could hang with him.
 I caught up with Justin as he was roughing in the lights on the other side of the studio building, for the scene in the locker room-- I could feel something steamy coming on here. We rigged a few lights in a hurry, just hanging them so they were out of the shot and throwing some light on the scene arbitrarily.
 "Where is the action going to take place?" I asked out loud, not realizing my double-entendre until it's too late to suppress a giggle. Maybe I was being a bit too much the astute lighting technician, I decided when no one answered right away, and maybe I should just keep my mouth shut and follow suit.
 "Uuugghh, that's a very good question. P.J? P.J., where is the action going to be taking place in this scene?" Jim queried from within the now-bustling set, as pieces of furniture traded places with lighting instruments in a seemingly indiscriminate fashion.
 P.J. broke away from what he was doing, that is, engaging one of the makeup girls in insider chat about the adult biz. The whole affair had an air about it of a casual cocktail party, where everyone is friends. Not the usual rank-and-caste I was accustomed to. This was much more social, even with the actors and actresses. I guess nudity and sex can have that kind of disarming effect-- it would be hard to keep your nose in the air while you're biting the pillow, if you know what I mean.
 "Well, let's see...," P.J. got up and walked around the space. "Are the girls ready yet? Okay, well let's bring them out."
 P.J. didn't seem very concerned about anything. He didn't have the usual confounded look of Hollywood directors, that "how am I ever gonna get this to work," or "how can I get this to be better" look. He'd done this hundreds of times before, with his clothes on and off, as both actor and director. Now he was just directing, having given up "performing" to make room for the younger up-and-comers. This was all very routine.
 First comes the clomp of heels, inadequately stepped on, like a young horse first fitted with shoes. Then they appear from around an accordion divider. Beautiful young girls, they are, remorseless and excited to go before the camera. Clad in just bathrobes, the big terry kind that keep you warm if you need it, with stockings and garters hinting at what awaits beneath.
 "Aaahh, Jade, Melissa... Over here" P.J. said, as the two temptresses appeared from the dressing area. Not like they necessitated private trailers, these girls often went without dressing rooms (more accurately "undressing rooms"). Such formalities were done away with for somewhat obvious reasons, besides the additional expense and hassle to the production.
 Earlier in the day, I was wrapping cable from various areas we had already shot in, while Jim tended to the needs of the set. I collected the light-gauge cable, making rings with it in my hands as I followed it's path on the floor, like I had done so many thousands of times before. This cable led me to a room with the door ajar, where it was plugged into a wall outlet. I looked at the plug, and looked up, and there was a beautiful young blonde girl undressing before me.
 "Whoa, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were in here!" I said as I reflexively covered my eyes, gentleman that I am. Damn, I thought, she is fine, as I savored the memory of the quick glance I stumbled upon.
 "Oh, that's okay-- it's not like I'm shy or anything!" was the response that came.
 Really? I pulled my hand away before my eyes burned through them. I said something in small talk, which sounded like that Charlie Brown wha-wha-whaaa-wha that they hear on the telephone for all I cared, and sent my hands back to work, that's why I was there. My eyes, however, were fixated on the beauty before me, gracefully disrobing all-too-nonchalantly. Bless you my dear, I thought, this job doesn't pay great but it has benefits.
 Jade, Melissa, and P.J. went through some of the motions while they awaited the arrival of the male talent for the blocking rehearsal. P.J. talked them through it.
 "Okay, so you two are doing your lesbian thing here against the lockers, and then Jake comes in through that door and joins you..."
 Alright, so this wasn't Wag The Dog, and there were no Oscar-winners here, but it was interesting blocking nonetheless.
 "Is this your first porno?" asked the sound guy, seeing the giddy expression on my face as the two girls mimicked their routine.
 "Well, I used to do a lot of soft-core, but... Yeah." I entrusted to him.
 "Hey everybody, we got a virgin!" was the response made public.
 Oh, great, thanks a lot. All eyes turned to me as I was exposed. Ten years of lighting, working on the biggest pictures in Hollywood, and now I'm a nubie again just because some chick's gonna take her clothes off.
 Due to this, however, I have some newfound popularity amongst the crew. All hardened vets of the adult scene, this was their everyday job watching people boink in all kinds of configurations. It gets boring and commonplace, so they say. The group thrived on new blood, watching the reactions to the goings on, that was what got them through their day. Now that my secret was out, all eyes would be on me.
 Jake arrived soon thereafter, and business got underway. The two young ladies began to frolic, in preparation of Jake's entrance, as the camera rolled. Trying to be discreet, I opted to head towards an exit and leave the set. P.J. saw me as he directed from a chair in the corner, and waved me over to him.
 "Sit over here, I want you to see this. Justin, get him our special light for this shot."
 P.J. was coaching me, keeping me close, as he too was aware of my "virginity." Justin gave me a small unit to be handheld, all powered up and ready to go. The C-light, they called it, and you can guess why. I was to stand beside camera when called for, manipulating the light to cast illumination in those hard to reach areas.
 The action got hot between the girls, ooohing and aaahing to orgasmic proportions, utilizing all forms of accouterments in the absence of a man. But lo and behold, along comes Jake just in time as the girls have run out of toys to play with. Things are going along smoothly with the production, and despite the company I'm in, after about fifteen minutes I begin to think of other things besides matters at hand.
 Jake makes his entrance, he's an older guy from the era of P.J.'s day, playing the character of a father or principal or something. He was a buddy of P.J.'s who continued to act after so many years of doing it. I guess "longevity" could be ambiguous in such a context.
 "Get ready with the C-light!" P.J. says as Jake approaches the girls. I rise to my feet at the ready, but-- wait! Something isn't going right. They're having, er-- uh, technical difficulties with the talent. It's, uh-- Jake's equipment. Despite the efforts of these two wanton wenches, Jake is having trouble performing.
 "Okay--cut," P.J. says from his chair. He goes and talks to Jake, and they decide to take a few minutes. Before long P.J. comes back and sits in the chair beside me.
 "So what kind of stuff do you usually do?" P.J. asks me, unconcerned with the delay like he had been awaiting this opportunity to get to know me better.
 "Oh, you know, mainstream stuff. Movies and television mostly," I replied.
 "Are you in the union?" He asked.
 "Yeah. I mostly work at the studios, rigging stages and stuff."
 "What have you worked on lately?" he continued.
 "Oh, I just finished this thing at Paramount for Dreamworks called 'Deep Impact,' a big special effects feature. I was one of the rigging gaffers," I replied.
 "Deep Impact? Sounds like a porno movie!" was the response. I hadn't thought about it, but he was right. I explained to him a bit about the nightmares I had underwent, and what a disheveled, mishandled production it was. The whole while he listened intently, understanding what I was saying. I bet he secretly harbored a wish to make some esoteric legitimate film, like most people preying around Hollywood do. After hearing a mouthful of discontent from me though, I'm sure he was, at least for the moment, content to be working in porn. And for that moment, so was I.
 It was informative talking to the producer/director, bridging some of the gaps between this censored element of the media and the top-heavy movies. Somewhere in the course of that discussion, though, I did feel my nubie transition disintegrate as the night wore on. The thrill and newness of the situation slipped away, and soon it was just another show, and I was on a flat rate to boot. As time progressed my hourly rate decreased; such was the mathematics of the situation. Now I could hear the "ca-ching" of cash getting more and more distant as a whole crew of people waited for this aging stud to get to Peckerwood.
 Suddenly I missed legitimate Hollywood, my union, and most of all, the overtime. I understood what these guys meant when they said it gets old, as I lost interest in my surroundings and nonetheless stood there holding the C-light. Then Jim appeared out of nowhere to alleviate me of my duty.
 "Jack, you and Justin go put together the truck. I'll take care of this set." With that, he took the C-light from me, and I went on my way. All for the best, I thought as I departed. It could get kind of messy in there, when Jake's manhood returns-- I caught a glimpse of the wraparound splatterguard faceshield the cameraman would eventually don. Not a pretty proposition.
 By the time I was through helping Justin on the truck, the scene was shot. On to one more wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am, then we're done. It was a quickie scene in an alleyway, and all things going accordingly, it was just that. Before long I was on my way home with no harm done, and a check in my pocket.

*****