Sellevision - Augusten Burroughs [76]
“Here’s where we store the lights,” Ed said, taking Max over to an area where fifteen or twenty gigantic stage lights on tall metal stands with wheels were parked, their thick black electrical chords wrapped around their bases.
“More set stuff,” Ed said, pointing to where various wallpapered, windowed, and fake-bricked walls were leaning against the wall of the soundstage itself.
“Hey, Trixie, how’s it going, baby?” Nick said to the naked, oily woman with the largest breasts Max had ever seen in his life. She was holding a cup from Starbucks.
“Hey, Eddy,” she said, pausing to kiss him on the cheek.
“This is Max. Max, meet Trixie.”
“Hi, Max. I’d shake your hand, but I’m kind of greasy. Just finished a scene. So are you a new guy?” she said, taking a sip from her coffee.
“Well, I’m, uh,” Max stumbled.
“He’s here for a test, gonna see how much the camera loves him,” Ed said, slapping Max on the back.
Trixie smiled. “Well, good luck with it. And just try to forget the camera. I know it’s hard, but if you don’t forget the camera,” she said, then looked at Max’s crotch, “it won’t stay hard.” Trixie gave a little wave and walked past them, stopping at the snack table to collect some grapes.
“Trixie Thunderpussy, the Trixie Thunderpussy,” Ed told Max as they walked over to an area where three naked men sat around watching a television. The men each sat on towels which were draped over folding chairs. They were shouting at the TV.
“Hi, guys. How’s it hanging?” Ed said as they approached the men.
They looked over and nodded, smiled. “Go, go, go, go, go!” one of them shouted. Then they all screamed, “Yes!” and leapt from their chairs, high-fiving each other.
“Man, those Broncos are fucking awesome this season,” said one of the men, walking over to Ed and Max. Then the guy looked at Max. “Hey, buddy. How’s it going?”
“Okay, pretty good,” Max said.
“Max, this is Rocky. He and the other fellas are working with Trixie, who you just met.”
“Oh, so you’re working with Trixie. Yeah, she seemed nice.”
“Listen, Rocky, Max here’s gonna be testing today. Think maybe you could be his camera buddy?”
Max gulped. Rocky was at least six-foot-three, all muscle and equipment. A human Rottweiler.
“What, just playin’ stuff? Kissin’, foolin’ around, that sort of thing, just light action?” he asked.
“Yeah, Rocky, you know the drill. Ten minutes—tops.”
Rocky shrugged, looked at Max, shrugged again. “Sure, no problem.” The other guys started shouting and Rocky ran back over to the TV. “No way, no fucking . . . aww, man . . .” He slammed his fist on top of the television.
Ed led Max into a dressing room. “There’s a shower in there, clean towels are everywhere, and there’s a pile of robes right over there,” he said pointing to a pile of thirty or forty white cotton robes folded on a table. “So just shower up, throw on a robe and when you’re done, just go back out and find Rocky.” Then Ed slapped him on the shoulder, smiled, and left Max alone in the dressing room.
The dressing room was spotless, pleasant even. A long white counter ran along one wall; above it a mirror was illuminated with large white bulbs. On the counter itself was a small stereo, speakers attached, not unlike the stereos Max had presented dozens of times on Sellevision. There was a stack of CDs next to the stereo along with some tall white candles. A shoebox filled with condoms was on the opposite end of the counter, along with a couple of cans of Evian mist. In front of the counter were two white director’s chairs. The room also had a small, two-seat white leather sofa and a couple of matching chairs. On the floor next to the sofa stood a small refrigerator. Max opened it and saw that it was stocked with spring water and soda. The bathroom was also spotless, if simple. There was a shower stall and shelves attached to the wall, stocked with fresh towels, bottles of Kiss My Face shower gel, and Pert shampoo. “Well, this doesn’t seem