It's Brittany, Bitch | Ερις (eristic) wrote in paxletalelogs, @ 2017-02-01 07:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | eris, freyr |
heard you're new in town
Who: Rafe & BB.
What: BB quickly susses out Rafe's employment and corners him for a painfully awkward interview.
Where: Pax Letale.
When: Early morning, and then a few days later.
Heavy breathing preceded the small Asian woman as she entered the front lobby of the huge Pax Letale apartment complex. New to the area but not to her own fitness regimen, Brittany Bernard jogged in place for a few moments as she consulted the FitBit wrapped around her wrist. When the numbers on the tiny screen met her eyes, she grinned widely and did a fistpump, eventually coming to a stop as she slowed her breathing with controlled exercises. Dressed in an 80s-inspired workout outfit that was colored several shades of watermelon, her hair was tied up in a loose pony and her entire form was covered in sweat. One hand wiped her forehead with its back, her eyes roving over the interior space of the Pax Letale lobby.
It seemed she was the only tenant to be an early riser, having gotten up to jog with the sun after a long night of internet research and comment control on her blog. She'd all but cat napped through the morning hours, unable to sit still long enough to really be considered sleeping. Crossing the lobby, she ventured toward her mailbox, pulling her keys out from a hidden pocket in her jogging pants' waistband.
A man was standing before the bank of boxes, keyring hanging from his middle finger, flipping through a small stack of mail. He looked over each envelope for longer than it deserved, sorting them into some order only he could divine. He glanced up briefly as she approached, giving her a friendly nod of greeting before looking back down to his task.
Brittany offered the man a wide, toothy smile as she approached her box and opened it. Something about the man seemed so familiar, but since she couldn't immediately place him, she focused on the various advertisements and other junk mail filling her mailbox. As she sifted and quickly sorted the mail, the majority of which went straight into the trash, she kept glancing up at the man. Finally, she took a step in his direction, squinting as though the effort would help with recognition.
"Excuse me," she said, her whole posture reading 'ain't this funny,' "but do I know you? You look so familiar to me. You're not from D.C., are you?"
His smile was warm, though there was something markedly guarded in it. "No," he said. "Not even close." His voice was softly accented, more softened at the edges than truly disappeared. "Brazil, then Miami, then here. Any of those places familiar?"
Britt's mouth shrank into a moue of discontent, her face scrunched into an expression that seemed like something that one's mother would warn you'd get stuck with if you weren't careful, as though such a thing would help her think harder. One idea popped into her mind. Her head tilted.
"Do you... Are you on the internet at all? Like... Or maybe a commercial? Are you an actor?"
He was a bad liar, and it showed. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly, his dark gaze flicking up and to the left for only a moment. She had given him an out, at least, in that she had asked too many questions at one time. One of them, at least, he could answer honestly, and hope that was enough.
"...no?"
A flicker of recognition lit up Brittany's entire face like a Christmas tree. She stabbed her index finger toward the man, her mouth going wide.
"You. I know you!" She all but started jumping up and down in excitement, though she had the courtesy to lower her voice to a whisper as though she were keeping the secret of his identity all to herself. "Backdoor Sluts 9. You were chained up to the bedpost!"
His lips thinned to a narrow line, though they still quirked faintly upward at the corners. A quick glance around the room showed no-one else lurking about; even if they had been, he was bound to be discovered sooner or later. So he nodded, his free hand raising to rub at his nape. "Yeah, that's me. I'm Rafael. Nice to meet you. Uh… so are you a fan or a critic?" He chuckled. "Or neither? You can say neither."
"Oh my god, I know. Rafael Atala!" She replied, her tone as effusive as ever. Her mouth hung open, the grin indicating her excitement at her discovery, but her teeth implying something more malicious underneath. "Huge fan. I mean, I love gay porn, but you, you're just...so cute." The grin didn't abate, but she shook her head. "Please don't take that the wrong way, I don't know if that's what you're going for, but I swear you're just so adorable." He chuckled, a faint blush dusting already his dark cheeks. She fell quiet for only a moment, as if to take a breath. A new idea lit up her eyes.
"Oh my god," she repeated. "Can I interview you? I work for TMZ, but I have a blog, too, and I just know my readers would love to hear from you. Oh, I'm Brittany, by the way, but you can call me BB. Most people do." Her words came out a mile a minute, jumping from one topic to the next without missing a beat. "But really, I have a whole list of questions. If I could just have maybe ten minutes of your time?"
"Do you really?" Smiling still, he hummed as he considered, but he did not take long to respond. "Sure," he said. "Okay, Brittany. BB, I mean. We can do that. I guess we're neighbors, now, so just let me know whenever you're ready and I'm sure I can meet you somewhere. Or you could stop by my place if you'd prefer. Whatever works for you."
"Oh my god, you're the best!" This time she really did jump up and down, though she limited herself to just twice. One hand dug into her waistband again, this time pulling out a thin but wide phone. "How can I reach you? Phone? Email? Twitter? I'm everywhere, I swear, and I'm always in touch, so anything and anytime works just fine for me. What do you think?" She tapped a button to make the phone light up, unlocking it. Brittany glanced up to Rafe, waiting on his answer.
"Uh, a text is probably best," he said. "I mean if you wanted something more formal, or photos or anything, email me, but... " He held out his hand for her phone, which she gave over without hesitation. "I'd rather make this a little more casual, if that's okay with you." He tapped out his cell number and email, perhaps wisely leaving out his apartment number, then handed the phone back to her. "I'll be out of town this weekend, but I'm back Tuesday. I'm sure we can get a time and place figured out."
Brittany nodded enthusiastically, glancing down at the phone to check the number -- she'd been given one of those 'not interested' prank lines more than once, and this one didn't look like any of the numbers she'd memorized, though she'd check on it more later -- and then back up at Rafe with a grin.
"Awesome! Going on vacation? How far out of town? Oh my gosh, are you filming on set somewhere?" Her eyes sparkled with curiosity, her whole being seemingly vibrating with energy, or maybe just the afterglow of a good workout.
He laughed, nearly blushing again. "Um, no… I have a convention in Vegas. A little expo and awards thing." He waved a hand, as though dismissing his own words the moment they were spoken. "But yeah, Tuesday. I won't have any worked lined up for a week or so after that, so I'll be good to go."
"That is fantastic," she replied, no less disenchanted by the fact that he was visiting only a mere convention. Each word was enunciated with its own individual force, as though each were a sentence unto itself. She crossed her arms over her chest, and gave no sign that she was interested in concluding their conversation, despite the fact that he looked as though he were about to go somewhere and she was starting to smell following her jog.
"What expo? AVN? Of course it would be in Vegas, I mean, where else would you go? Amsterdam? Really doesn't seem like there'd be anything as fun within the U.S. The DMV sure as hell is too uptight for that kind of thing, and it's really sad. Oh, I guess maybe New Orleans? Oh my gosh, have you been there? I've always wanted to go."
"Yeah, I have…" His keys jingled against the back of his hand as he looked toward the door, though he did not yet move in its direction. "I've been there. I like it a lot more than Las Vegas, but I don't think AVN will ever leave. The, uh, Feminist Porn Expo in Toronto is nice, too. But we can talk about all that later, I think. I don't want to bore you with work talk..."
"Believe me, I'm not bored at all! I could talk about this kind of stuff all day, really, I mean, what's not interesting about the porn industry? I mean, for you, I guess it could be because this is just the everyday stuff in your world. Or maybe it's not, I'm not trying to be assumptive!" Brittany threw her hands up, nearly recreating her grin with her arms. She folded them back over her chest, her phone hanging from one hand's loose grip.
"I've never been to Vegas, either, I'm not much of a gambler, but I've always wanted to visit that Coyote Ugly bar they've got there. I think they've got something similar here in LA, but I'm not sure how much it's the same, you know? And how can you know, without comparison."
Rafael laughed, and it seemed genuine. "Right," he said. "Of course. I'm sure you'll get a chance to go one day. And you can tell me all about it after. Right now I really have to go, though…" He gestured to the door, as though that might somehow reinforce the assertion for her. In case that wasn't enough, he at last began to move backward toward it. "But I'll talk to you next week, okay?" He threw her a friendly little wave, hoping that was enough.
"Oh!" Brittany offered him a little wave in return. "Yeah, of course! I didn't mean to hold you up! But I'll be in touch! I'm really excited for this, as if you can't tell. Have a good convention! Don't be late for your flight or whatever, Rafe! Oh my god, I can't believe that just happened..." She took a step backward, the last few words muttered to herself under her breath. Waving once more to Rafe, she looked down to her phone and started tapping away, clearly texting someone. Whether it was about the recent encounter, or something else though, was entirely unclear.
* * *
True to her word, Brittany had waited at least those few days Rafael said he'd be gone before she'd hit him with a barrage of texts asking for an interview on Thursday of the following week. She'd set the place as the lounge area of their shared apartment complex, keeping it simple and local for the both of them. Once he'd agreed (his texts being a little slower and not as enthusiastic as she would've liked), Britt made a show of getting there early and claiming a quiet, private spot near the back of the room. She was dressed in a far more professional manner than she had been upon their first meeting -- work slacks in a dark navy, and a bright yellow sweater that matched the yellow flats on her feet. Her hair was pulled back in a loose braid, and she had both a notepad and tape recorder at the ready as soon as Rafe showed up.
He had five minutes to spare when he arrived. In dark jeans and a light blue button-up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he looked more casual than she, but still quite unlike the common perception of someone in his line of work. He waved when he saw her, smiling gratefully at her relatively discreet choice of seating. If he had any reservations about their pending discussion, none showed in his warm, open expression. He slipped into the overstuffed chair across from her, his hands wrapping loosely around the edges of its plush armrests.
"Good to see you again," he said. He chuckled. "I actually thought I might beat you here."
"Sorry to disappoint," she replied with a wide, toothy smile. Her right hand held a pink, fluffy, feather-tipped pen that roiled with movement as she tapped it impatiently on the top of her notepad. "I'd say no one's ever beaten me somewhere before, at least, not when I know about it, anyway, and even before then sometimes. How was your trip to the convention? I checked your twitter but it only looked like the usual required posts. Do you post to it yourself or is that handled by your distribution company?"
"Have we started already?" he asked, half teasing. "That account is mine. I try not to post anything too personal or specific, usually, so I understand why it looks like someone else might have control of it." He glanced to the flicking of her pen, a bright distraction in the subtly decorated room. "The trip went well, thank you. A very good crowd, as always."
"That's wonderful! Hah, and no, that wasn't the start, that was just a few warm up questions. Actually, are you alright with being taped? I use it for accuracy, because you just never know, you know?" The hand holding the pen reached out and tapped the slim silver tape recorder sitting on the small table between them.
He nodded, unsurprised, and in some small way quite pleased. He hoped the gesture would prove protection for him as well as for her, though he made a mental note to choose his words carefully just in case. "Of course," he said. He leaned back in the deep chair, folding his hands low across his belly. "Go right ahead."
"Great!" Without further hesitancy, she clicked the red "start" button on the side of the tape recorder; no sound or movement gave any sign that it had sprung to life, but Brittany seemed assured as she sat back and pulled out a bag. "Before we get started with the questions, though," she said, a mischievous look crossing her features, "I was wondering if you'd autograph something for me." From the bag she withdrew a still-boxed sex toy with Rafe's likeness detailed on the cover. He was shirtless, his arms up and over his head to show off his lean, chiseled abs.
A choked little cough sounded in the back of his throat; he tried to cover it as best he could, twisting it into something that was almost a laugh. To his credit he did not blush too deeply, though his eyes darted quickly away from the lurid photograph of himself. "Uh, sure." Leaning up, he took the box from her hands, then gestured for her pen. There was one small strip of white on the upper right corner of the box's front; he scrawled his name there in loose, sprawling script. "Fair warning, I don't think it's worth anything." He handed pen and box back to her, still neatly avoiding making eye contact with himself.
Brittany grabbed the dildo back all the same with greedy hands, her grin wide enough to eat him alive. "Oh, don't think so little of yourself. I know plenty of guys and girls who'd kill me for this. Speaking of, are you seeing anyone right now? What's dating like as a porn star? Gotta imagine it's pretty difficult to navigate, what with all the sex and videos that end up everywhere. How'd your last relationship go?"
Rafael nearly breathed an audible sigh of relief. This, at least, was a question he had fielded many times before, from press and fans alike. Still, his answer did not sound rehearsed when he offered it; his tone was as familiar and warm as ever, as honest as a Boy Scout. "Well… I'm not seeing anyone now, no. It can be difficult. It often is. I'm very up front about my work, you know, but it doesn't always match the picture people have in their head. They…" His tongue flicked over his lips. "Well, there's all the same jealousy and expectations that anyone has in a relationship. Just magnified, in some ways."
"I can only imagine," Brittany replied, making an attempt to sound and look sympathetic. "Can you tell me what's the weirdest reason someone's broken up with you over? I'd think gangbangs might add a wrinkle to any relationship."
He laughed aloud. Color rose to his cheeks, but he seemed no more abashed than before when he answered. "Funny you'd ask," he said. "Um. I'm not sure if this counts, but one person broke up with me because their father recognized me. Which was awkward, of course, but not something worth breaking up over, I didn't think."
Brittany covered her mouth as her jaw dropped to the floor in an over-enthusiastic expression of surprise. She could barely stop grinning long enough to ask her next question.
"Seriously? I mean, working in porn definitely ruins the pastime for your parents. Was it because the father disapproved or did they think it was weird that their dad got off on pictures of you? I mean, getting to touch the real deal has to be better than just watching videos or looking at pictures."
"I thought so," he said. "But their father hadn't really… come out, I guess, so it caused a whole… thing..." His smile faded; he glanced out at the still empty room beyond, seemingly uncomfortable for the first time. "I do wish they'd seen it as a good thing. They obviously have something in common, similar taste... but." He shrugged, feigning a lightness he did not feel. "Anyway, yes. That's been the strangest reason, I think."
"Mmmm," was her only reply, her pink feathered pen moving over her notepad. Her scrawl was illegible, whether one was looking at it from the top or bottom, but Brittany was looking back up at him with curious eyes in the next beat anyway. "What would you say is the one thing you, I don't know, feel like you missed out on as a porn star? There's always different career paths, but I have to imagine that, since the relationships are so hard to come by, it might get a little lonely. I mean, there's intimacy, but then there's intimacy, which you kind of lose out on if your dad's whacking it off to your boyfriend."
Rafael's hand tightened on his thigh. It was a small motion, little more than a subtle spasm, one he hoped she did not see. His smile was unsteady. "Well, sure," he said. "Of course. I do miss that. It's rare to find someone both unbothered by my profession and not… titillated, I guess, by it. Most of the people who understand it's just a job are people also in the industry. I've had more success with that, you might say, but still nothing lasting. And I suppose I considered children at some point, but that's… not very likely."
"Oh my gosh, can you even imagine explaining that to kids?" Brittany had noticed the tiny movement out of the corner of her eye, the observation born of years honing her interviewing skills and understanding how people ticked, so she could make them squirm as much as possible. "I mean, having your daughter find your gay porn online, let alone just straight porn. Or your son! That's where internet blockers would come in handy, right? Wow, as though boyfriends and their fathers weren't enough."
His gaze flicked down to his hands, willing them to be still. He cleared his throat. "Well, I don't… that isn't how I'd want to handle it. I've worked with people who have children. It does happen. And sex positivity is important. It's more a matter of…" He shifted in his seat, increasingly uncomfortable, increasingly vulnerable, and painfully aware of both. "Finding a partner who's accepting of that. Willing to work with you." He shook his head. After a moment of effort, he managed to meet her eyes again.
"I… the way I see it, what I do is consensual and pleasurable. It's a more honest career than, say, granting terrible loans and evicting people who can't pay, or piloting a drone and killing people three thousand miles away. But my job is bad, and theirs is good."
"I have to agree, that part is fucked up." Brittany scribbled a few more notes down on her pad. Clearly she was relying more on the tape recorder, but she flipped to a fresh page. "Is that something you deal with a lot, from say, like, family? How do your parents feel about you being a porn star? If they don't know, I'm sure it's only a matter of time, right? The internet's a black hole, but everything surfaces eventually."
He nodded. It was a matter he had given much thought; he suspected his parents had at least heard rumors of his work, but for obvious reasons had taken no steps to confirm or deny this. "They don't know," he said. "They don't ask. But I think it would be difficult for them, yes."
"Aw, that's so sad," Brittany offered, a flicker of sympathy crossing her features. She glanced down to her notepad, flipping back and forth between the two pages. "Going back to the dildo," she started, apparently deciding she'd had enough of making him uncomfortable. "Can you tell me about that process? I mean, did they cast your dick? I assume you had to be, I dunno what the professional term is, fluffed for the procedure? Or is there just one catch-all dick that people just slap their name and picture to?"
The hard line of his shoulders eased. He drew a long-held breath, realizing the full extent of the tension he had felt only now that it was relieved. He cleared his throat again, his voice brighter with the turn of topic. "I can't speak for everyone who has one," he said, "but mine is… well, actually mine. Yes, they made a cast, a couple of molds from that, a few prototypes from that. The casting process was… strange. Staying hard for something like that is easier said than done." He laughed. "But I've managed under worse circumstances, so."
"Oooh, do tell," she replied, latching on to his last words. She put her elbow on her knee, planting her chin on her closed fist in a miming of intense interest. "Long shoots? Dealing with Viagra? Your co-star just really turned you off?"
He shook his head. "I don't mess with pills," he said. "Long sessions, though, yes. And I've had some BDSM scenes that got a little… intense. Especially when I was just starting out, it was sometimes difficult to find and set limits. It's kind of a learning process." His smile was a bit more believable now, as he guided the conversation to steadier ground. "And, you know, sometimes you're just in a weird position."
"Like?!" Brittany looked like she was ready to jump out of her seat. "Oh my gosh, wait, I have a camera! By which I mean my phone, of course. Would you feel comfortable recreating them for my readers?!"
He laughed aloud. "Not right now," he said. "Wrong place, wrong time, and no equipment. Some things require a little more setup than this." He smiled, a small and secretive thing. "And really, if they're that interested, they know exactly where and how to find it."
Britt could only grin in response, shrugging. "Can't fault me for trying, right? This is half making me wish I was straight. I think I have plenty to go on for now, Mr. Atala, but I know where to find you if I have more questions. Are you comfortable with that?" She leaned back into her seat, suddenly writing furiously into her notepad, glancing up periodically as she spoke.
"Sure." He watched her scrawling away. He nodded a small farewell when she looked up to him, and rose from his seat. Some part of him felt grateful for a relatively simple escape; another, deeper part told him the follow-up might not be so easy. He shrugged this off as an uncharitable thought, and smiled at her before taking his leave.