Well, that, and also, he’s a giver.
It strikes me that of everything there is to be attracted to about Logan, this is his sexiest part—this part of him I’m seeing now. This part of him that cares about his work beyond the sex. This part of him that isn’t just physicality, but also emotion and heart.
“Then would you rather that more of the work you do is scripted?” I ask. The movies Logan produces already walk the line between improvised and plotted out. While the scenes themselves seem to be organic, they always begin with a monologue that he writes himself. It’s another original aspect of his work.
“Hiring a good scriptwriter costs too much, so that’s not the way to go. But reality TV has proven stories can be interesting when not scripted.”
“But those situations aren’t really ‘real.’” I wonder if this is strange first date conversation. I’ve never gone out with someone else in the business, so my experience is narrow. “Those reality shows are all staged. Encouraged.”
He sits forward, eager. “Right! The producers put together characters with whatever chemistry they’re going after because they know that, based simply on psychology and human behavior, the ‘actors’ will react to each other in a way that’s entertaining to watch.”
He leans back in his chair again. “I mean, look at The Bachelor and The Bachelorette. People go crazy over watching men and women ‘fall for each other’ in real time.” He uses air quotes as he says fall for each other suggesting he believes, as I do, that very little that happens on reality shows is genuine. “Imagine if we could capture that essence.”
I squint my eyes as I follow his line of thought. “Then you’re suggesting porn do The Bachelor?”
“Not a game show. But, yeah. A camera following a man and a woman over a series of dates. The sexual activity would be encouraged to progress at a natural pace and would be completely open door. Explicit. Hot. But it all happens organically, and if feelings develop between them, even better.”
“That’s actually a brilliant idea.” I’ve never spent much time thinking about where porn could or should go, but hearing Logan talk about it is really inspiring. “It’s cutting edge and yet right in line with where the trends are heading.”
“That’s what I think.” He meets my eyes, and I have to concentrate to not squirm in my chair. His gaze is so hot and intense and demanding. It’s as if he wants something from me, and if I knew what it was, I have a feeling I’d hand it over without a second thought.
“So what do you say?” he asks after a beat.
“What do I say about—wait.” Everything starts to click into place. “Are you actually proposing this project?”
“Yeah.”
“To me?”
“Yes. I am.”
Then this isn’t a date.
And the conversation wasn’t candid and real; it was the preamble to this proposal.
I’m stunned. And speechless. Mostly because I’m disappointed.
But then he says, “I’m asking you if you’d like to be part of a revolution that takes the industry by storm,” and I can’t be quite as disappointed as I was because, even though this isn’t a date, it’s an opportunity. An opportunity to move into the het world. To make more money. To do more work with Logan.
To have more sex with Logan.
Take the industry by storm. Is it fate that he’s used the same words that LaRue Hagen used?
I’m flattered and flustered. The whole thing is surreal, and I don’t know what to say.
“Devi? What are you thinking?”
Before I can answer, I have to know, “Why wouldn’t you ask someone with more experience? I haven’t even done any het porn since the scene we did. Why me?”
I expect it’s because of my inexperience. A project like this is best with a newbie that could be groomed along the way. My ethnicity probably helps too. If he’s trying to be forward-thinking, an ethnically diverse cast is the way to go. And if LaRue Hagen is right, my career is poised to “break out.” Naturally other directors would notice.
But he doesn’t give any of those answers as his reasons. Instead his features grow somber and his eyes serious, and he says, “I want it to feel authentic.”
“What?” I’m so surprised that the word falls out, breathy and astounded.
“I want it to be real,” he says sheepishly. “As real as possible. So.”
I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to say anything and ruin this incredible, awesome, strange, surreal moment. I mean, I’m in. How can I not be? But I’m still so flabbergasted that I can’t answer right away.
Then he grins that charming crooked grin of his, the one that makes my knees shake, even when I’m sitting down. “Come on, Devi Dare,” he says, and it’s like he’s purring. “Make porn with me.”
And that’s how I go from a stable career of girl-on-girl to making an arty, dirty reality show with a porn star.
8 One Week Later
Devi lives in El Segundo, in a stamp-sized bungalow that’s been awkwardly chopped into two apartments. And despite the tidy landscaping and fresh paint, I notice that she locks no less than four locks before she skips down the driveway to my car. I knew the kind of porn she did paid less, but I guess I never realized how much less, and I immediately feel a wave of weirdness about my massive house up in Laurel Canyon and even the car I’m in right now. It’s a Shelby Mustang Super Snake, and while it didn’t cost as much as most of the other cars I see in the Hills, it would still be a few years’ worth of rent in a place like this.