Sellevision - Augusten Burroughs [67]
Max answered his questions as best he could. No, Max hadn’t had any previous experience. Yes, he was considered good looking. And yes, he was well equipped. (“Ask almost any housewife in the country.”)
“And you’re sure you have no prior experience, nothing at all?” Mr. Palantino had asked.
“None. I’m sure I’d remember.”
“Fantastic, just what we like. Here’s the deal, send us a head shot along with a couple of nude pictures, Polaroids are fine, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I get them.”
After hanging up, Max worried that perhaps he had overpromised when he had said, “Sure, I’ve got a great body.” So he walked into the bathroom, took off his shirt, and stood before the mirror. Although lacking grapefruit-sized pecs or biceps as large as thighs, Max thought he looked pretty good for thirty-three—tall, lean, a muscular chest, a hint of abs, good arms. He had a hairy chest, and the hair had a nice, natural pattern to it, across his chest and then a trail down his stomach, a T. It could be shaved, or not. Max thought, I’m good raw material. Plus, he had a full head of Brad-Pitt hair, thick and gelable. And although his face was handsome, it was not so perfect as to appear plastic. It was a friendly face. “I’d date me,” he said to his reflection.
Hunting through the hall closet for his Polaroid camera, Max thought, I can’t believe I’m really doing this. Yet, instead of ashamed, he actually felt excited. The idea of being a porn star like that guy on Leeza was just so outrageous, so completely out of character, that he found it very intriguing. It was almost like going into hiding. He could make some good money, and nobody would ever even know. Besides, why serve eggs to cops at Denny’s when you can have sex with them on a soundstage?
Max set the Polaroid camera down on top of the television set and stripped off the remainder of his clothing. Standing in his condo, naked, midafternoon, in the presence of a loaded camera, had a somewhat decadent feeling. He picked up the camera and set the self-timer button on the back, then depressed the shutter. Rushing to stand far enough back so that all of him was in the kitchen, he watched as a small red light blinked steadily on the front of the camera. Then the blinking sped up significantly and was followed by the sound of the shutter and a bright flash. The instant picture was ejected from the camera. Before even waiting for it to develop, Max took more pictures, five in all: standing at a 3/4 angle to the camera, flexing his abs, looking casual (as casual as one can look while nude in front of a Polaroid camera), and finally one last shot of his equipment. Just to seal the deal.
After the shots were finished developing, Max laid them out on the coffee table and sat on the sofa, making his selections. He chose a flattering shot of himself standing with his arms behind his back, as well as the one where he was flexing his abs. He also included the equipment photo.
Then he retrieved a head shot from his filing cabinet, a black-and-white photograph in which he was wearing a suit and tie, smiling into the camera. Although the picture was more than two years old, Max felt he still pretty much looked the same, except that the new, unemployed Max no longer needed to wear a tie. It also showed that he could be lit professionally with good results.
He sat at the computer and wrote a quick note to accompany the pictures. Nice talking with you, look forward to hearing from you, really excited, blah, blah blah. He printed out the letter using the Epson Stylus he had purchased from Sellevision last year when it was featured as a Today’s Super Value ($81.66 in three easy payments of $27.22).
Reading the letter over for spelling errors and/or idiotic comments, Max felt satisfied enough to stick the letter, the head shot, and the three Polaroids into a manila envelope.
Grabbing his keys, wallet, and bomber jacket, Max headed out of the condo, care