The Price of Fame

I'm Milton Pearl, a sixty-two year old father and widower, and I'm too old for confessions. My daughter, Nicki, is the one you ought to ask for a confession. She's still at Carvel High, just turned nineteen, and she's doing porn videos. I only recently found out about it, and it's making me crazy. Sometimes I can't help but feel as if I've let the poor girl down. I was the one who encouraged her to try modeling. I wanted her to do something with her life. Be somebody. She's an attractive girl. Small, thin. Big brown eyes like a baby doe. She has hair just like her mother—silky, chestnut hair that falls to the middle of her back.

Nicki's mother is how all this started. She died last year in a motorcycle accident.

Her name was Becky, and we met in her final year of high school. I was twice her age and had just returned from a tour in the Gulf. She worked the counter at Howard Johnson's down on the Boulevard. She kept the hem of her uniform skirt a few fingers higher than all the other girls, but she had the legs to pull it off—slender, tan legs. Cheerleader legs. I had my Harley back then and Becky liked to feel its huge engine roar. We'd go for long rides, and after a few hours of weaving along the wooded back roads, she'd lower her hands from my waist, reach between my legs, and I'd know it was time to pull off to the side. She wasn't my first woman, but she's the only one I ever wanted to make a child with.

After the accident, Nicki started acting out with boys.

I found nude video of her on one of my laptop computers. She was texting with someone on a software program I use for making video calls. I don't think she intended for me to find the recording, but I think I know the exact night it happened. I was upstairs watching a football game and she had herself holed up in the dining room with the door locked. The video shows her sitting at the table with her top completely unbuttoned. She slips off her shirt, opens her bra, and then hides her breasts with both her hands. You can tell by the expression on her face that she's building up her courage, and then she takes a deep breath and lowers her hands. Nicki has breasts just like her mom—teacup size. Nipples big as gumdrops, areolas the color of chocolate milk. You can tell she enjoys showing off her body by the sly way she's grinning when she drops her hands. After a few minutes of typing, she stands up. She's in her underwear, and her slim hips and tummy fill the frame. She turns around, lowers her panties, and flashes her bottom. When she sits back down, her face is flush. After a few more bursts of furious typing, she stands again, only this time to show her front—a thick patch of untrimmed pubic hair, all wispy and wild. She only shows herself for a minute, and then she pulls her panties back up and sits, her face glowing bright red.

I know that's not appropriate behavior for a little girl, but I didn't want to come down too hard on her. The video reminded me of Polaroids her mother and I had made when we first started dating. I'd get us a room at the motel where she worked, and Becky would hold her uniform skirt up and grin that devilish good girl smile at me. She'd lower her panties and hose, and then sit in a chair with her knees up high while I photographed her. Becky loved to show off her body. She once told me that the thrill of performing for a crowd in a skimpy outfit was the main reason she was a cheerleader all through high school. I looked all over for those old Polaroids but couldn't find them. I lost them. They're gone, just like Becky's gone. Just like my youth's gone. And now it looks as if my little baby Nicki's gone, too.

It's all so unfair.

***

If Nicki acted out with boys to deal with the loss, I didn't do much better.

I was a mess.

I married Rebecca three months after we put Becky in the ground. I don't know how I would have gotten through those first few weeks without Rebecca. She's a godsend, but nothing like Becky. For one thing, she couldn't look more different. Rebecca is a ginger. Red hair that hangs to the middle of her back. Tall, milky white skin, and an athletic, formidable body. A real Viking. She's a makeup artist at the company Becky and I started. I'm a stunt coordinator and a damn good stuntman myself. I've been a double for Cruise, Eastwood, Ford, and Willis. I've been blessed with a rugged face, but I keep my body in good shape. I've even doubled for Schwarzenegger.

Rebecca is half my age with an insatiable appetite for sex. Right after the accident, this was perfect. We'd slip into one of the trailers, lock the door, and fall into one another's arms. I always had a thing for her, but we never did anything about it. When we finally became physical, we didn't do touchy-feely sex. I'd just cup her shoulders into my palms and pound my cock into her. Sometimes she'd lick her finger, reach around and slip it in my ass. Ordinarily I wouldn't let a woman do that to me, but Rebecca could get away with it. She's such a brazen, intimidating woman. It's one of the reasons we hired her. She's the perfect woman to deal with all the hotshot Hollywood people.

Once Rebecca and I started having sex, we met two or three times each day, but always on the set, in a car, or at some motel. I didn't want to bring her home right away, so soon after losing Becky. Didn't seem right. I wanted Nicki to like Rebecca. I figured that since the two of them were so close in age—about ten years apart—they might bond.

Didn't happen.

At our wedding, Nicki got hammered and tossed a drink in Rebecca's face. I won't repeat here all the ugly things Nicki said that night. Rebecca took it in stride. The next day Nicki apologized, but the two of them started out with a low-level, brooding relationship, like a tooth gone bad.

Meanwhile, I didn't know what to do about that video I found.

I felt like I needed to address it—I'm Nicki's father, after all—but I knew better than to bring Rebecca into it. I kept watching the video, trying to figure out what to do. I couldn't get over how much Nicki looked like her mother. It went beyond mere physical appearance. In my line of work, you have to capture the attitude of the actor you're doubling. The best stuntmen are surrogates, stand-ins. Somehow Nicki managed to capture her mother this way. It was in the way she kept returning her hands to her breasts even after she had already exposed herself, or the expression she wore as she marshaled the courage to push down her panties and reveal even more of her body. That sort of push-pull—equal parts eager, equal parts shy—was exactly how her mother behaved in high school.

I sure do miss my Becky.

***

I finally mustered the courage to tell Nicki about the video I found.

We were alone in the house and Nicki's face fell. I watched her throat work as she swallowed hard. I put my hand over hers, and she hung her head, her silky hair hiding her face. I didn't want to shame her or make her feel bad—I wanted to keep things light—but I didn't know exactly what to say. This is the sort of thing that Becky would have known how to deal with.

I made a joke about the size of Nicki's breasts, but—Good Lord!—that was a mistake. Nicki drew her lips together in a tight line. She looked me right in the eye, a storm brewing in her big brown eyes.

She left for her job at the restaurant. She was mad.

To make up with her, I decided to loan her six thousand dollars. She'd been lobbying Becky and me for the money to buy a car, but we weren't sure about loaning her so much cash.

Rebecca was against it.

At the dinner table Rebecca said right in front of Nicki that six thousand dollars was "too much responsibility for a girl Nicki's age—too much pressure." Almost as if to prove Rebecca right, Nicki lost her job as soon as she got the car.

***

When Becky had been gone six months, I found myself in a completely new life without her. Rebecca and I stopped having sex at work. After we had so many of the crew out to the ranch for the wedding, it just seemed wrong to keep acting like kids at work.

We had our sex in the morning and then again later at night. I felt more pressure to satisfy her needs than I did for any of my deadlines at work. I started taking Viagra. And, of course, I knew I needed to do something for my little Nicki. I wasn't that worried about the money, but Rebecca wouldn't let it go. Always hinting that Nicki ought to get a job, grow up. Be more responsible. I wanted peace in my house. I wanted Nicki to be happy. I wished for a pill I could swallow that would solve all of Nicki's problems.

Jack Price seemed like the answer.

He was a freelance photographer I had taken on to capture some promotional video. A veteran himself, Jack had done his tour in the second Iraq war. Good looking guy. Curly hair, dark eyes. A lot younger than me—and ex-Army, but I didn't want to hold that against him.

I told him about my problems with Nicki. The stuff I didn't feel comfortable sharing with Rebecca. We had a few drinks, and I showed him Nicki's school pictures. Told him she was experimenting with boys. Pretty soon I was telling him everything. We talked about the video I found. We watched it together. It was satisfying to talk with someone who listened. He didn't have any answers, but he asked a lot of questions.

How old was Nicki?

Who was the boy she spoke with in the video?

Did I think she was sexually active?

Jack was the one who first suggested getting Nicki a job as a model.

He said she's cute.

He said a girl like Nicki would get a lot of work. He said he had some friends who could use her. Friends who would love to get their hands on her. He said his friends could make her a household name.

I'll say this much—in the certain circles, Nicki is pretty popular now.

***

I floated the modeling idea to Nicki over dinner.

She was just starting her senior year and had a lot of homework, but you could tell the idea pleased her. I had to build up her confidence about her looks. I didn't say anything about her breasts this time, but I told her that Jack was a professional photographer, and he'd seen her high school pictures and thought she was cute. She groaned and hung her head, but I could tell she was pleased that an older man found her attractive. It felt good to give her some news she wanted to hear.

Rebecca seemed quiet. Restrained.

Later that night, alone in our bed, Rebecca propped herself on her elbow. She said she thought modeling might be a poor choice for Nicki. We had just finished making love and there was a slick sheen of sweat on her breasts. I lost my patience with her. I didn't want to yell, but I hissed. I told her I needed her support, her help. I said that if we didn't get Nicki squared away, our marriage would surely fail.

I was upset and went into the computer room, leaving Rebecca alone in the bed. When I came back later, she'd fallen asleep.

The next morning, Rebecca seemed contrite.

I got on top of her and slipped myself between her legs. She was already wet. Looking at me with wide, eager eyes, she whispered, "My daddy said you'll make me a star, mister."

The other big difference about Rebecca is her dirty mind. Becky always relied on me to rattle off all our fantasies, to push our limits. But Rebecca naturally leans toward taking the lead. She can take the most mundane situation and find its sexual edge.

I grinned, immediately warming to her game.

"That's my little girl," I said.

As I thrust my hips, she wrapped her arms around my neck.

"I'll do whatever you say, mister." She bit her lower lip and rolled her hips. I could feel my penis lodged inside her. "I want to be a star," she moaned, her voice lowering into a throaty whisper. "I want to be famous."

I fucked her and when I was ready to finish, I told her to scoot down between my legs and put my cock in her mouth. She took my erection in her hand and started sliding under the sheets. But then she stopped, cast her eyes downward, and gently nudged her breasts against my chest.

My cock throbbed in her hand.

"Mister?" she asked. I could feel her warm breath against my ear. "Please don't tell my boyfriend I let you come in my mouth."

I love that girl.

***

Nicki took to modeling right away.

Jack seemed pleased. He said she was a natural in front of the camera. She soon began appearing in advertisements for local businesses. That chichi gym downtown still has half a dozen banner signs featuring Nicki in workout tights. She took a few bites from a hamburger on TV. Modeled some print dresses for a local department store.

And then Rebecca began reaching for the mantle of motherhood in a way I hadn't expected. She helped Nicki with her hair and makeup for shoots. They started to do more together. Sometimes they would disappear on the weekend together, driving out to a location shoot or some studio in the valley. Rebecca would take her big makeup case, fat as a suitcase. At work, I'd sometimes find her chatting with Jack at the water cooler.

After Jack finished his original assignment, I had to find more work for him.

He was a good freelancer, a popular photographer. I had to stick my neck out with the partners, but I moved some promotional work to a higher priority. I had no illusions about Nicki becoming a runway model, but I saw the way she was applying herself and bonding with Rebecca. I got Jack on the company calendar all through the holidays and well into the spring.

I wanted him to continue grooming Nicki. I just didn't realize what he was grooming her for. I never wanted my little baby girl to be a porn star.

***

Not long after I squared Nicki and Rebecca away, I became infatuated with a gorgeous teen model that reminded me of Becky. Her name was Jenny.

I'd felt so relieved to find her.

It had always felt wrong to look at the video of Nicki stripping. I resolved to delete it many times, but could never bring myself to actually do it. I didn't want it to disappear like those Polaroids. Couldn't stand to have it vanish like Becky. So instead of deleting it, I saved it. I hid it away on my secure backup drive.

I didn't want Rebecca to find it. She wouldn't understand.

Jenny was brand new to modeling. I found her on one of those glamour sites that feature teenage models in skimpy outfits. When I first looked into modeling opportunities for Nicki, I found dozens of these sites. There isn't any nudity, but it's all very titillating. The glamour sites didn't seem right for Nicki, but I didn't see any harm in visiting myself.

Jenny took my breath away. Despite the most amazing blue eyes and long blonde hair, something about her always reminded me of Becky.

In her first set, she appeared as a waitress flirting with a good-looking customer, a guy maybe ten years older than her. The pictures were carefully orchestrated to tell a little story. In one shot, he reached across the counter to touch the back of her hand and the look on her face was priceless: the perfect illustration of girl about to be swallowed up by her own innocent desires. She bent low to refill his coffee and the camera peered down into her shirt. You could see the soft swell of her breasts, the lacy edge of her bra. She wore a jellybean necklace that she toyed with as she leaned over, her customer raking her in.

In another shot, she dropped her pen and then bent from the waist to retrieve it. The guy held his coffee mug halfway to his lips as he gazed at her legs, her hem perilously close to her panty-clad bottom. When she gave him his check, he touched her hand again, and she looked back over her shoulder and then discreetly lifted her skirt. The hem only rose a tiny bit, just enough to show her panties—it wasn't clear if she was absentmindedly toying with her clothes, the way that teenagers sometimes do, or if she was inviting her customer to seduce her.

My cock was swollen and wet.

Jenny turned her back to the other customers and the rest of the wait staff. Now she carefully showed off what was under her skirt. The camera zoomed in to show her cotton underwear, a pillow of pubic hair hidden behind the fabric of her panties. You could see the occasional little corkscrew of hair peeking past the seams. By far, the most intoxicating of these pictures were the ones that included her face as she exposed herself. She looked both powerful and terrified, alive and a little trapped, just like Becky in those Polaroids.

The photographer was talented. Top notch.

I saved Jenny's waitress set to the encrypted drive. The way these sites work is that you pay a little fee and then sign up for updates.

I immediately signed up for more sets of Jenny.

***

Around Christmastime, I was at the office late and it was deserted. I got an update about a new Jenny set and immediately went to check it out. I didn't recognize her at first. She'd cut her hair into a short blonde wedge with a thin stripe of tangerine and purple down the front. She wore a little girl's button up cotton pajamas and sat before a Christmas tree, her legs tucked under herself. A thin boy with a hooknose dressed as Santa stood gazing at her, a fake white beard hanging from his chin.

I heard a tapping on the glass.

Jack stood in the hall, his brows raised. I waved him inside, shut my laptop, and leaned back in the chair.

He wanted advice on how to motivate Nicki. I laughed, but Jack was serious. He said she was at a turning point in her career and he wanted to inspire her.

I told him all I know about inspiring Nicki. Never put her down. Always be positive. If all else fails, appeal to her sense of professionalism. The key to motivating Nicki is her desire to compete well with her peers in the workplace. Nicki is like her mother that way. Becky pinned the hem of her waitress uniform to make sure she always got the best tips.

Jack listened attentively. He seemed pleased with my answers.

After he left, I went back to Jenny. Santa took a seat on the couch and Jenny dutifully stripped down to her bra and panties. Her slim hips and unblemished tummy looked delicious, but she seemed disinterested. Maybe even a little bored.

I copied the set to storage, then closed my laptop, disappointed.

At first I thought it was because the boy was so young, dressed so ridiculously. But then I realized it had little to do with him, and everything to do with Jenny. I wanted to see her push herself, shed her innocence. For a girl her age, it's the most natural thing in the world. I wanted to watch her embrace the adult world of sexual desires.

I'd watched Becky do the same thing once. I'd even given her a few gentle little nudges of my own along the way.

***

The whole family had to pull together to give Nicki her shot with modeling. We each had to make our own little sacrifices. I came downstairs New Year's Day and found both Rebecca and Nicki already awake. The kitchen smelled of fresh coffee. Nicki sat at the counter, staring intently into her phone. Rebecca stood behind Nicki, working methodically on her hair.

"Morning," I mumbled, surprised to find everyone up.

Rebecca nodded her head, lips pursed around a mouthful of bobby pins.

"He says we have to be there by two," Nicki said.

I poured coffee for myself.

"Who says?" I asked.

"Morning, Daddy," Nicki said, acknowledging me. She winced and then spilled her coffee as Rebecca pushed a hairpin into her scalp.

Rebecca cooed an apology, taking the last of the pins from her mouth. "We can make two," she said to Nicki, who began thumbing a message into her phone.

"You're on your own for dinner," Rebecca said to me, filling her mouth with more hairpins.

I made breakfast and thought about how I'd spend my day. By the time Rebecca finished with Nicki's hair, she looked like someone else, a completely different person. Each strand of her long silky hair had been twisted up and pinned tight to the side of her head.