I swallow, clenching my jaw and forcing away the memory. I hate thinking about it. It just pisses me off and sets me off my game.
For my photoshoot, we’re using an abandoned building that looks like it went through World War II with stripped walls and dilapidated architecture.
There’s dust and debris strewn across the floor here and there throughout the large room, leftover remnants of a wall that was torn out, and gang graffiti was spray-painted on the wall behind me. But the worst part about it is the smell. It smells dank and musty, like the local bums come here to piss their drunkenness away. I’m having a hard time keeping a straight face through it all.
It definitely isn’t a spot that I would’ve chosen for the shoot, but it’s not like I really have a say in the matter. I shoot where they want me to shoot most of the time. Besides, posing in front of graffiti in a rundown warehouse is supposedly edgy and plays into the sexy bad boy image that I usually get booked for. Guess that’s what happens when you’re jacked, inked, and wear an aura of cockiness like a favorite leather jacket.
“Perfect!” Frances exclaims, smiling at me and then gesturing again. “Now turn around just a little and show me some of your butt.” I don’t like his tone, but I’m professional. Besides, a little top of the ass was agreed upon before the shoot. I start to do as he says, but then he adds, “And hook your thumbs in the front of the towel to lower it. Show a smidge of hair and the base of your cock.”
I freeze. That wasn’t part of the agreement. “No. Dick pics aren’t in the contract and you damn well know it.”
Frances’s eyebrows lift up and he seems surprised I’m not just doing what he says without a second thought, probably accustomed to people jumping anytime he demands. But I just stare back at him as he blows up, ranting about how he knows what sells better than some asshole model who thinks he’s hot shit.
What the fuck am I doing? I’m not a damn porn star. Fuck this.
I walk over and grab my jeans and t-shirt, not saying a word. I pull my jeans up while Frances gawks at me and I think he’s still looking at my ass. As he realizes I’m actually leaving, his tirade continues. I’m pretty sure he even tells me to fuck myself in French as I slip my t-shirt over my head, but I can’t be sure.
His voice only gets louder as I walk off. “You know what I can’t stand about models like you?” Frances demands. “You think because you’re good-looking that you’re owed the world. Well, news flash. Hot men like you are a dime a dozen. You’re nothing special. Hell, the last model I shot was far cuter than you.” He pauses for a moment, then adds, “Maybe you can book a Dad Bod gig next time.”
I stop in my tracks, my back to him, and I smile. Now I know he’s full of shit, but it’s not worth making this situation worse.
I wait till I’m on the street before calling my agent, Jay Coleman.
“Yo?” Jay answers in his customary greeting.
“What the fuck, Jay?” I growl. Jay’s been my agent for the past few years when he discovered me after my injury. We’ve gotten pretty close, and we’re never formal when we speak. “You sending me on soft porn shoots now or something?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Jay asks in confusion.
“He wanted to see my dick!” I hiss. Right as I say ‘dick’, an old lady walks by and shoots me a dirty look, forcing me to lower my voice. I wait till she passes before I continue. “He was already giving me weird vibes even before that. I walked out on him.”
Jay laughs. “Dude, I’m sure he didn’t want to see your Full Monty. It was for the chicks.”
“I don’t know about that man,” I say, remembering the way Frances looked at me. “Not what I signed up for either way.”
Jay lets out a sigh. “I really wish you wouldn’t have walked off set like that . . .” his voice trails off, but I get the point. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it was just a little tease for the ladies. But my mom buys every single ad I do and shows it to all of her book club friends. Talk about fucking awkward. Fuck it. It’s over now.
“It’s too late now. It’s over and done with. You got anything else for me?” I ask.
Jay pauses as if he’s going to scold me further for my fallout with Frances, but then his tune changes. “Yeah, I do, actually, but it’s a stretch. Some new TV show is doing auditions. Could be a good opportunity for some screen time if you make it.”
I grunt scornfully. “Seriously? Jay, you know I can’t act for shit. What the hell would I do on a TV show?”
“No, not just any TV show,” Jay says with growing excitement in his voice that makes me nervous. “Reality TV.”
“Oh, fuck that, that’s even worse.” I hate reality TV. The most I’ve ever watched was a couple of seasons of Survivor when it first started. Anything else I’ve seen in passing made me want to gouge my fucking eyeballs out. Bunch of grade-A douchebags if you ask me. And the chicks weren’t much better.
Jay presses. “Oh, come on, dude, it could actually be perfect for you. No real acting. Flash those dimples, flex your biceps, flip your hair, and I bet you’re a shoe-in.” When I don’t reply, Jay adds, “Just think, it’ll be great exposure!”
I scratch at the fresh stubble on my jaw. I still don’t like the idea, but I don’t really have many options right now. Fuck my life. “I . . . I’ll think about it.”
There’s a long pause on Jay’s end, a pause I recognize almost instantly. “Jay,” I say slowly, feeling a sense of dread, “what did you do?”
Jay coughs. “So yeah, I kind of already submitted your headshots along with a video profile from the agency.”
“What the fuck—” I begin to yell but stop when a woman with her kid walks by. She speeds up as she passes, bending over to whisper something in her son’s ear.
“And they called this morning to invite you for an audition,” Jay says, stunning me into silence. “Congratulations?”
It takes me a moment to recover my voice. “Dude, are you serious? You just pimp me out without even running it by me?”
“Yeah, I did,” Jay says, a firm note entering his voice. “I’m your agent. That’s my goddamn job. And with you just walking out on this gig, a little thanks could be in order.”
“I hate when you do this,” I growl.
“Stop whining and get your shit together,” Jay says. “I’ll text you the info now. And by the way, you’re welcome.”
Click.
I stare at my phone for a moment as the sounds of bustling traffic fill my ears. A part of me wants to call Jay back and chew him out, but the other part of me realizes he’s right. He’s just doing his job.
With no jobs on the horizon, this new gig might be mandatory. Maybe I just need to give it a try and make the most of it. What do I have to lose? And maybe I can get some face time, get something out of it.
“Guess I’m auditioning for a reality TV show.”
Emily
“You’ll have to remember, a lot of these guys are here for their own personal reasons,” Meredith says as I sit before her in a room that looks like it might be used for filming in one way or another with all the props. The flow of the room is somewhat ruined by the millions of wires running across the floor, hooked up to several different cameras. “Chances are slim that any will have actual real feelings for you, but they’ll pretend that you’re the greatest thing since Nutella on celery. Most of them are just here in hopes of becoming famous.”