Porn Star(42)

“If you say so,” Tanner says, draining the last of his beer and walking over to the recycling bin to chuck in the can. “I just don’t think I’d even want to touch another woman if I was in love with someone else.”

“That’s very chivalrous,” I say, and I don’t say it mockingly. I mean it. I admire that, because despite my warm, gooey center, despite my fantasy to love and be loved, I also know that while it’s still my job to f*ck women, I’ll do it happily. Maybe with some complicated feelings, but never with any regrets. It’s not as if I’m going to start going limp on set because my heart’s in another place.

It’s just that I don’t think my heart and my dick have to be connected, at least not all of the time.

“And I think you know yourself pretty well, Logan,” he says, grabbing his keys and phone off the kitchen counter. “I don’t doubt that you’ve got it all figured out. But what about this Devi girl? Do you think she feels the same way? You think she’ll really be cool letting you f*ck your way up and down and sideways around the Valley?”

“Of course,” I scoff. “She’s a professional! And I guarantee she won’t stop f*cking other people either. I know for a fact that she’s ramping up her career as we speak.”

Tanner shrugs. “Alright, man. Whatever you say. I’ll see you Friday?”

“Yeah. Whenever you want to come over is fine—we don’t have a scene booked and I’ll be editing all day.”

“And don’t forget to ‘gram those pictures you took of Candi and Ang today.”

“When have I ever forgotten to post on social media?”

He laughs. “Okay, okay, you’re right. But you do have to occasionally promote yourself, you know, not just talk about the lunch you’re eating or whatever show you’re bingeing at the moment.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

He tosses me a wave as he leaves out the front door, and I throw myself onto my newly-sanitized couch, digging out my phone to post the pictures on Instagram and Twitter, and tease up the scene a little, even though it probably won’t go up until next week.

When I’m done, I check Devi’s Twitter feed on a whim. We follow each other, but Devi doesn’t leave much to follow...her most recent tweet is from last month, and it’s a selfie taken inside the flagship Good Vibrations store in San Francisco, where she’s giving a giant dildo an exaggerated, adorable wink. No hashtags, no caption. Her Instagram feed is equally sparse, usually shots of the beach or the desert, never with any words attached.

What was she thinking when she posted those pictures, I wonder. How was she feeling? For all that we’ve done together, for as intimate as we’ve been, I have no idea what her inner life is like. I don’t know if she felt lonely when she looked out at that ocean sunset she posted, or if she felt complete. I have no idea whether her lack of online presence is because she’s shy or because she lives so fully in the moment that she doesn’t even think about sharing it publicly.

I stare at that Good Vibrations selfie for a long time, at the way her hair tumbles around her shoulders and her mouth opens playfully. And then my chest squeezes hard and my mind floods with uncertainties and doubts, and I jam my phone back into my pocket.

I wish Tanner hadn’t asked me all those questions, even as I also realize that they’re necessary. I’ve been avoiding thinking about it, trying to put Devi in a mental box as I filmed my usual scenes, as I leaned down to whisper all my dirty, intense thoughts in the ears of other women, as I came on them and inside them, as I wrote monologues inspired by them.

But it was messier than that. The boxes I’d put Devi and Star-Crossed in were porous, and they seeped into everything else, creating these confusing scenarios where I fantasized about Devi as I f*cked other women but I was still turned on and completely engaged by the other women. Is that a thing? Being able to want one person so utterly and consumingly, but also being able to throw myself into sex with other people without missing a beat? If porn wasn’t my job, I have no doubt I’d be monogamous. But porn is my job, so where does that leave me?

I stand up, suddenly determined not to think about this anymore. I don’t even really know that Devi has capital F Feelings for me; I don’t know that she’ll want me after Star-Crossed is over. Right now, the only thing that we’ve established for certain is how much we want to fool around with each other and that we maybe like each other in a more-than-friends way. Hardly the time to start thinking about the future.

Even if it’s all I want to think about.

God, she’d look good in my house. Sleeping in my bed, swimming in my pool. Sharing my life…

But no. I’m not going to think about this anymore. For all I know, I’m just setting myself up for heartbreak when I discover she doesn’t feel the same way.

My phone rings, and I fish it back out of my pocket, hoping against hope that it’s Devi and then letting out a world-class sigh when I see that it’s my mom.

Dutifully, I answer. “Hey, Mom.”

“Hi, honey. Am I interrupting...anything?”

I can’t help but smile. My parents have been mostly supportive of my career choices—not as enthusiastic as Devi’s parents seem to be—but supportive enough. Except that neither of them, Mom especially, like to mention anything about my job by name. The words porn, sex, scene, and even adult as an adjective coupled with anything else, are never words you’ll hear around my family’s dinner table.