Come Into Darkness (12 page)

“Ahh,” he sighed. Sleep descended once more, sinking Mario’s mind into deep, tranquil waters of silence and-

“Mario! For the last time, wake up!”

“Jesus,” he moaned and gradually removed his arm. He opened his eyes a sliver. The light seemed to set his retinas alight, and he closed his eyes again. “Oh God. What time is it?”

“The time?” said Jonno. “Time you got your arse into gear. They’re waiting for you.” He shook Mario. “Get up!”

“Okay! Okay!”

Mario groaned and sat up from the sofa. A woollen blanket fell from his body and onto the floor. He slid his hand into his boxer shorts and rearranged the contents. He yawned.

“Seriously,” he said, his eyes half open. “What time is it?”

He sat in the den-now converted into a dressing room-in the house on Albert Street. Light shone through the slight gap in the curtains. The house meant one thing: work. To have Jonno, in a sleeveless white T-shirt and his hair dyed a faded blond, fussing around confirmed it. His assistant continued to rant, walking around the room.

“About ten,” said Jonno. “You know he likes to shoot in the morning. When you get here?” The young man rummaged in the contents of a holdall dumped on a desk. “I mean, fuck me, Mario! You trying to lose this job?”

Mario yawned again. “I guess I got in about three?”

“Fuck me, Mario,” Jonno hissed again. “What were you thinking?”

“Hell, I have a key and I was in town. You think they give a key to just anyone? Steve said I could crash here whenever I wanted. His home is always open.” He rubbed his eyes.

“This,” said Jonno, facing him with his hands on his slim hips, “is not a home. It’s a studio, and Steve is your boss. Remember that. Here…” From the bag, he tossed Mario a can of deodorant. “Freshen up. Show your colleague a little courtesy.” The young man sighed and scratched his bare shoulder. His hair seemed to glow under the light. Mario saw right through it.

Need to stop dying your hair, Jonno. Gonna be bald by twenty-five…

“And clean your teeth,” said Jonno. “You lick a tramp last night?”

“I tried.” Mario ran his tongue over his teeth. The molars felt fuzzy, like a moss had grown on the enamel overnight. “Jesus. What did I drink last night?”

Jonno cocked his head. “Everything, judging by the state of you. Come on! Move.”

Mario moaned as he stood. His body swayed, and he leaned against the arm of the sofa.

“The room’s spinning…”

“You’ll be spinning if Steve catches you in this state,” said Jonno. “How can you perform like this? A sniff of pussy and you’ll be throwing your guts up!”

“I’m not you,” said Mario and sneered.

“Enough of the cutting wit, Mr. Wilde.”

Both men fell silent at the sound of a door opening and chatting voices from the front of the house.

“That’s him,” said a flustered Jonno. He flapped his arms at Mario, like he shooed away a giant fly. “Come on!”

“What?” Mario shrugged his shoulders.

“What?” asked Jonno. He rolled his eyes. “Of course. He’s forgotten. Why do I even bother?”

He darted between Mario and the bag, then into the ensuite bathroom, then back to the bag, muttering to himself.

“Jon. Calm down for fuck’s sake. Who’s here?”

“You
have
forgotten,” said Jonno, stopping. “The director. The one from America?”

Mario thought back, but no name or face stepped forwards.

“Look,” said Jonno and huffed. “It’s simple. The other model is here already. Krystelle? I think you’ve worked with her before. Anyway, it’s just gonna be you and Krystelle in this one. This director, name of Crane, is a good Gonzo maker. It’s a simple shoot. Just you and him as mates, coming round to see Krystelle and…well, just do as you’re told. Now get ready!”

Mario tensed his muscles and stretched his arms over his head. He yawned again.

“What would I do without you, Jonno?”

His assistant snorted. “Join the bloody job club. Now get some spray on. I’ll tell Crane you’ll be along in a minute.” Jonno headed to the door. “And Mario?”

Mario paused, the deodorant aimed at his armpit. “Yes?”

“Fuck her good, babe.”

Mario winked.

“I always do!”

*****

“Mario,” said Jonno, beaming. “This is Roger Crane.”

The old man held out his hand. “A pleasure.”

Hesitant, Mario shook the offered hand. He locked stares with the director, trying to force a spark of recollection. The man seemed so familiar. The moustache…the messy hair…

Crane looked nothing like other directors. Most in the business were under forty, keen to break into the industry and make a name for themselves. Crane appeared more like a librarian, more at home shuffling around piles of dusty tomes among dark shelves. The thought of starring with this guy didn’t sit right.

“Nice to make your acquaintance, sir,” said Crane. “Shall we press on?”

Mario’s chest lurched, and he coughed. “Wh-what did you say?”

Crane shot Jonno a side glance. “I asked if we should press on.”

“Oh.” Mario had no idea why the words had filled him with such dread. “I…guess so.”

Crane smiled, displaying small, yellow teeth. Mario wondered if they were false.

“Excellent,” said the director. “I believe you know Krystelle. What a delight that girl is! I suggest we go outside, have a quick chat and start the shoot. Ever done one take before?”

Mario blinked. He’d been staring. “What?”

“Wake up, sir! Have you ever done a shoot in one take before?”

He doesn’t sound very American…

Forcing a smile, Mario said, “Only in a home movie.”

Crane chuckled. “We’ll change that. Come along!”

He turned and walked down the corridor. At the front door, he opened it and stepped outside. Mario scratched his head.

“Are you still wankered?” snapped Jonno. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” said Mario, keeping Crane in sight through the open door. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because if you get sacked, I don’t get paid. Sort your shit out!”

“I’m fine. Really.”

Jonno fussed over Mario, fixing his hair and ensuring his shirt hung straight.

“Then get your game face on. Who knows where this might lead?” Jonno stepped back, admiring his handiwork. He gave Mario an approving nod.

Mario passed through the hall and out of the front door. Jonno closed it behind him.

The house stood in the middle of a row of neat terraces, and Mario wondered what the neighbours thought. They must know. Sound carries through thin walls, and some of the shoots made lots of noise. A girl can’t be gangbanged by five well-hung blokes in the parlour without screaming…not unless she wanted to work again. Mario wrinkled his nose from the memory of the last bukkake shoot. He despised them. Too many sweaty, grunting men, with cocks and balls swaying all over the place. Not really his scene. He had respect for the women to take such punishment. Hell, most of them loved the attention and if they weren’t here and being paid for it, they’d be doing it at home. Some women just weren’t fussy.

This is more my thing…Just me and her. More of the spotlight!

He eyed Crane, who studied the sky.

Not too sure about him being involved in the action though…

“Bad light,” said the director and poked a thumb upwards. “Looks like rain, too. I suggest we make a start as soon as possible. Once we get the introduction out of the way, we’ll be safe inside.”

Crane headed down the path that led through a small garden. He opened a white gate and approached a silver sports car parked in the street.

Oddball.

A grey cloud obscured the sun, descending the street into twilight. No birds sang from the bushes bordering the property, nor did anyone walk down the pavement. In the silence, Mario put his hands in his pockets, trying to shake the feeling of unease that stabbed like pins in his stomach.

Quiet day. Feels like there’s only the two of us here.

He dismissed the thought. He knew people lived in the houses on either side. On one occasion, they’d had to cut a scene due to a baby crying in the background.

Just the weather bringing me down, I suppose. Need to concentrate.

Crane returned from the vehicle holding a compact video camera. The side panel had been opened, revealing the screen. He fidgeted with the controls.

“Should be fine, sir,” he said. “I seem to be picking things up nice and clear.”

“Mr. Crane, why do you keep calling me “sir”?”

The director glanced up and grinned. His wrinkles deepened.

“Why, politeness!” He held up the camera. “Nothing complicated with this one. No script. Just follow my lead and improvise. And remember, one take for reality!”

Mario took a deep breath. “I’ll try my best.”

Showtime.

Crane strode past him and stopped at the front door.

“And action,” he said. He pressed a button on the camera, and a red light blinked on beside the lens. The image of the door appeared on the small screen. “This is the place. I’m here with my good friends Mario. Say hello, Mario.” The director turned the camera around.

Mario waved and said a quick greeting.

Crane returned to the door.

“We’re here to visit a lovely girl who we met this morning. Deary wants to make it in the industry, so we’re here to give her a little audition. Isn’t that right, Mario?”

“Sure is,” said the actor. “Quite a looker, this one. Let’s get in there.”

“Indeed,” said Crane and knocked on the door. He stepped back and held up the camera. Seconds later, a click sounded, and the door swung open. Krystelle stood in a white blouse, her blonde hair falling about her shoulders. The denim of her miniskirt clung to her thighs, and high-heeled shoes highlighted the curve of her calves. She smiled.

“Good afternoon, Krystelle,” said an eager Crane. “You remember us, don’t you?”

“I certainly do,” she said. “Come in.”

“This one doesn’t wait long, does she?” said Mario, slipping into the role. Crane directed the camera at him, and Mario winked.

Nothing too dramatic.

He based his reality character on a builder who’d remodelled his apartment. He was a simple man, all swearing and bravado. Such an easy character to play, and the people who liked this stuff got off on it. After all, isn’t this want they all want to be? A sexual predator, hunting a willing prey? No one wanted to watch a gentleman. They wanted to see a girl get a good fucking, plain and simple.

Krystelle moved aside and the men entered. As she closed the door behind them, Crane performed the obligatory shot down her body, lingering on her legs and skirt.

“Very nice,” he said. “You don’t mind me filming do you?”

Krystelle shook her head. “I guess not.”

“I can’t believe how stunning you are,” Crane continued. “And you say you’ve never done anything like this before?”

She bit her bottom lip, giggled, and shook her head again.

Mario nodded.

She’s good.

“Well, lead the way,” said Crane, “and we can have a little chat about your potential career.”

Krystelle walked through the hall, with Crane’s camera directed at her plump bottom all the way. They entered a modestly furnished lounge. Mario sat on the sofa, while Crane sat in a chair opposite.

“You go and sit with Mario,” said Crane, watching her move. The girl opened her legs for a second before she sat, offering the camera a teasing flash of the contents of her skirt. The girl knew her stuff.

“How old are you, Krystelle?” asked Crane.

“Nineteen.”

Mario grinned.
Twenty-four, actually.

“And do you have a boyfriend?”

Krystelle twizzled a lock of her hair. “Yeah…”

“And does he know about this?” Crane kept his gaze locked to the screen, not even looking up.

“No…but he won’t see it, will he?”

“Certainly not,” said Crane. “This is just a test shot, and you don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. Okay?”

“I guess.”

“Now, sweetheart, if you’d like to stand up again? You have gorgeous legs…”

Krystelle did as instructed.

Mario sat back, studying her. Aware that he remained in shot, he smiled, as if enjoying the show. Keeping with the fantasy, he reached forwards and stroked her thigh.

“You don’t mind Mario touching you?” said Crane. He sat still, holding the camera steady.

“No…” said Krystelle.

“Nervous?”

“A little.”

“If you sit back, we’ll see if Mario can relax you a little. He’s a nice guy. You like Mario, don’t you?”

She giggled again. “I guess.”

“Good.” The director sighed. “The things I have to do in this job…”

Krystelle fell back on the sofa.

Mario frowned. Crane’s words seemed odd, and the camera was sure to have picked it up. What did he mean, the things he has to do?

Why does he look so familiar?

Krystelle’s hand rubbed Mario’s leg through his jeans. Her strong grip squeezed the muscle of his thigh, and her nails scratched the denim.

Mario draped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her closer. She stroked him higher, reaching his growing bulge and massaging it.

“You’re getting on great,” said Crane. “Mario, why not give the girl a kiss, and then we can see about getting her out of those clothes…”

Eyes closed, Mario moved in. Krystelle accepted his tongue into her mouth. No time for sweet, delicate kisses. Giving the viewers what they wanted, Mario kissed eager and rough, not caring if he hurt her. The girl, very much the professional, rubbed him harder and faster.

“I think I understand now, sir. Is this why you love your job so much?”

Mario ignored his weird question, working on showing the camera who was in charge. He kissed harder, forcing Krystelle’s head back. He spread her legs, knowing what the camera captured, and touched the moist patch at the front of her underwear.

“There you go, sir. Very entertaining!”

Something dripped onto Mario’s face. He blinked.

“Keep going, sir!”