“Getting colder. It was…” He paused dramatically. “An adult entertainment film.”
Posey blinked. “Say again?”
He lowered his voice to a whisper and gave her a very adorable grin. “I’m a porn star.”
She gave a hearty laugh. “Yeah. Me, too. Posey Does Portsmouth. Have you seen it?”
He stood up straighter, and the smile left his face. “Posey, I act in adult films. That’s my job.”
Holy Elvis Presley. He was serious. “I thought… I didn’t think you were…” She glanced at Jon, but he was helping the Taylor Lautner fan, who was using her knife like a hatchet. “So. Wow. That’s…interesting.”
“It is, isn’t it? And it’s not nearly as sleazy as it sounds,” Gus went on. “I mean, do I get more than my share of tail? Sure. But I’m looking to really connect, know what I mean? Fall in love. Make love. Which is so different from acting, where some know-nothing director is telling me what to do. And it can be hard, you know? Some of the scripts we get are absolute crap. There’s no story, you know? I mean, what are these characters looking for, right? Other than a good lay?”
Posey nodded. Tried to picture bringing this guy home to her parents’ house, where pictures of Pope Benedict, son of the Fatherland, hung in three of the six rooms. He’s a porn star, Ma. A porn star. Nope. Wasn’t gonna happen.
“I should probably be honest here,” Posey said, trying to take a note from Wayne. “I…I think your job would probably rule you out in terms of dating. I’m sorry.”
“Who asked you, huh?” he snapped. “Man! You’re so prejudiced! So I screw people for a living! So do lawyers! Would you go out with a lawyer?”
“Um…probably,” Posey said.
Gus tossed down his knife and folded his arms in full sulk. Her brother-in-law gave her a questioning look, then clapped his hands once more. “Gentlemen, take a stroll to your left, won’t you?”
“Holy crap! Posey Osterhagen, right? Shit! Long time no see!”
Posey felt every muscle in her body stiffen. “Rick. Yep, it’s been a while.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Same thing you are, Rick. Why don’t we just skip each other? No need to waste time, right?”
“Smell the basil, gang,” Jon was crooning. “Isn’t that glorious? Now you know why you paid so much to take this class. This basil was flown in from Cyprus, okay? Heaven!”
“I don’t want to skip,” Rick said. “Dude, relax, okay? It’s just a cooking class.”
True enough. But by all that was holy, she didn’t want to spend a nanosecond with Rick Balin.
Rick was a native of Bellsford, too, and like Posey, he’d moved back after college. But they hadn’t spoken since high school, though of course she’d seen him here and there, at the bank or a town meeting. Rick “managed” one of his parents’ marinas, which, according to the gossip at Rosebud’s Bar and Grille, meant that he came into the office, downloaded porn (hey, maybe he’d recognize Gus), then left around three to start cocktail hour.
“So, how are you?” Risk asked. “It’s been a while, right?”
She gave a tight nod. The only saving grace was how horrible he looked, even worse up close. The years had taken a toll—the years, and several thousand bottles of beer, she guessed, based on his large belly and florid face. Even so, Rick Balin still oozed that rich-boy smugness (that, and alcohol fumes) as he lackadaisically chopped basil.
For a second, it was as if they were back in high school and Rick was leaning against her locker, blocking her from opening it. Back then, Rick Balin had lived the cliché of trust fund brat: he was beautiful, he was spoiled and he was cruel.
He’d also been her prom date.
“So, you’re still single, Posey?” Rick asked.
“Mmm-hmm,” she answered.
“Me, too. Divorced. Twice, if you can believe it.”
“Oh, I can.”
“So, maybe we can hook up sometime.”
“No, thanks.”
He shrugged and gave her a once-over.
Posey blinked. “Say again?”
He lowered his voice to a whisper and gave her a very adorable grin. “I’m a porn star.”
She gave a hearty laugh. “Yeah. Me, too. Posey Does Portsmouth. Have you seen it?”
He stood up straighter, and the smile left his face. “Posey, I act in adult films. That’s my job.”
Holy Elvis Presley. He was serious. “I thought… I didn’t think you were…” She glanced at Jon, but he was helping the Taylor Lautner fan, who was using her knife like a hatchet. “So. Wow. That’s…interesting.”
“It is, isn’t it? And it’s not nearly as sleazy as it sounds,” Gus went on. “I mean, do I get more than my share of tail? Sure. But I’m looking to really connect, know what I mean? Fall in love. Make love. Which is so different from acting, where some know-nothing director is telling me what to do. And it can be hard, you know? Some of the scripts we get are absolute crap. There’s no story, you know? I mean, what are these characters looking for, right? Other than a good lay?”
Posey nodded. Tried to picture bringing this guy home to her parents’ house, where pictures of Pope Benedict, son of the Fatherland, hung in three of the six rooms. He’s a porn star, Ma. A porn star. Nope. Wasn’t gonna happen.
“I should probably be honest here,” Posey said, trying to take a note from Wayne. “I…I think your job would probably rule you out in terms of dating. I’m sorry.”
“Who asked you, huh?” he snapped. “Man! You’re so prejudiced! So I screw people for a living! So do lawyers! Would you go out with a lawyer?”
“Um…probably,” Posey said.
Gus tossed down his knife and folded his arms in full sulk. Her brother-in-law gave her a questioning look, then clapped his hands once more. “Gentlemen, take a stroll to your left, won’t you?”
“Holy crap! Posey Osterhagen, right? Shit! Long time no see!”
Posey felt every muscle in her body stiffen. “Rick. Yep, it’s been a while.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Same thing you are, Rick. Why don’t we just skip each other? No need to waste time, right?”
“Smell the basil, gang,” Jon was crooning. “Isn’t that glorious? Now you know why you paid so much to take this class. This basil was flown in from Cyprus, okay? Heaven!”
“I don’t want to skip,” Rick said. “Dude, relax, okay? It’s just a cooking class.”
True enough. But by all that was holy, she didn’t want to spend a nanosecond with Rick Balin.
Rick was a native of Bellsford, too, and like Posey, he’d moved back after college. But they hadn’t spoken since high school, though of course she’d seen him here and there, at the bank or a town meeting. Rick “managed” one of his parents’ marinas, which, according to the gossip at Rosebud’s Bar and Grille, meant that he came into the office, downloaded porn (hey, maybe he’d recognize Gus), then left around three to start cocktail hour.
“So, how are you?” Risk asked. “It’s been a while, right?”
She gave a tight nod. The only saving grace was how horrible he looked, even worse up close. The years had taken a toll—the years, and several thousand bottles of beer, she guessed, based on his large belly and florid face. Even so, Rick Balin still oozed that rich-boy smugness (that, and alcohol fumes) as he lackadaisically chopped basil.
For a second, it was as if they were back in high school and Rick was leaning against her locker, blocking her from opening it. Back then, Rick Balin had lived the cliché of trust fund brat: he was beautiful, he was spoiled and he was cruel.
He’d also been her prom date.
“So, you’re still single, Posey?” Rick asked.
“Mmm-hmm,” she answered.
“Me, too. Divorced. Twice, if you can believe it.”
“Oh, I can.”
“So, maybe we can hook up sometime.”
“No, thanks.”
He shrugged and gave her a once-over.
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