Page 63 of The Casting Couch

I turned and walked off into the evening before I could do something stupid.

Like asking Bradley if I was allowed to be jealous.

ChapterFifteen

Bradley

When I walked into the Boys On Film studio that morning, the first thing I noticed was that the air smelled vaguely like something powdered.Probably the ghost of a protein shake.The second thing I noticed was Petyr, halfway up a ladder, stringing a garland of fake cherry blossoms over a giant white vinyl backdrop with calligraphy that said, “Sakura Splendor.”

He didn’t even say hi.Just yelled, “Don’t step on the plastic!”before scuttling down like a spider.

Dimitri, on the other hand, actually looked me in the eye.He slung an arm around my shoulder, and tragically, I nearly wept into his linen shirt.

“You going to be okay?”he asked, in that soft Russian-accented voice that somehow made everything sound like a lullaby, even when it was about bukkake.

I nodded.Sort of.“Yeah.No.But yeah.”

His brow furrowed like a worried cat’s.“You don’t have to be a hero, you know.”

“I’m not.Heroes wear capes.I’ll be wearing a robe.And later, probably a gallon of jizz.”

He patted my shoulder, gave me a very Russian nod of brotherly sorrow, and walked off.

Before I could even locate my sense of self, Laura appeared in the lobby like a vision.Ponytail, big glasses, matte lipstick the color of dried blood.Smiling.

That never boded well.

“There’s been a slight change of plans,” she said.

Oh God, I thought.Please let them have canceled.Please let them have come to their senses and decided I’m too emotionally fragile to be used as a human Slip‘n Slide.

“They want to do a brief interview first,” she said.“Before the, um, ritual.”

“Interview?”I asked, like a man already halfway to Hell but still asking for the menu.

“Yeah, just a little intro,” she said.“They want to, and I quote, ‘highlight the face of the vessel before the sacred rain.’”

“I…” I blinked.“I feel like I should be offended.But I’m too tired to figure out why.”

Laura smirked, handed me a thermos of what I prayed was coffee, and led me down the hallway toward makeup.

Moira was already waiting, apron on, hair teased to the moon, eyeliner like samurai blades.

“There he is!”she crowed.“Our little pastrami platter.”

“I’m...sorry?”

“You look like a snack,” she said, patting the makeup chair.“Come, sit.Let me beat your face before the boys beat their meat.”

Charming.

I sank into the chair and tried to breathe.Moira was unusually chipper, humming as she dabbed at my under-eyes with concealer.

“You seem a little too into this,” I muttered.

She shrugged, swirling something on a palette.“What?It’s hot.A room full of naked guys jerking off?On you?I mean.I might need a cigarette just thinking about it.”

“I’d trade places with you if I could.”

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