“I’m on theroad. Headed to the gym, actually,” I say, merging onto the freeway. “So, you’ve got me for about twenty minutes.”
“Avoiding that shitty afternoon traffic snarl, nice,” he comments.
I nod, not like he can see me. “So, what’s up?”
“Trevor sent me your latest progress pics. Nice work. I really appreciate your effort for this film, man.”
“Once I commit to something, I’m all in. You know me, Mark,” I say, laughing. “Although, it hurts a hell of a lot more at this age, I can tell you that much.”
Mark laughs, but when he speaks again, he’s sharp and serious. “Is this it, Corey?”
Frowning, I ask, “Is what it?”
“‘Edgelord.’ Your last acting role?”
I feel a pang in my chest at his words. Sure, I had considered this, and Bridget even alluded to it a few weeks ago. A guy my age only gets so many roles in this industry, and most of those roles are for “old men” seducing young, virginal women. Part of the reason I had jumped at “Edgelord” was because it had a decent storyline and I wasn’t pairing up with anyone younger than thirty.
It made sense for this to be my last starring role. But fuck, was it a tough pill to swallow. Who is Corey Brooks without Frank Moro?
After a beat of silence, Mark says, “You’re a legend, man. No one would fault you for calling it at this point.”
“You’re just saying that because that kind of press will—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mark cuts me off. “It’ll make for great press buzz, but that’s not why I’m saying it.”
I sigh. “Then why are you saying it?”
“Corey, I’ve been in this industry a long time. Even longer than you. And trust me when I say, if you can go out on top… go out on the fucking top. That’s all.”
Once again, I find myself nodding as if Mark can see me.
“Anyway,” he continues, “the real reason I’m calling is because Lola had to back out.”
“Shit, really?” Lola is an industry friend of mine. We’ve been in movies together before, and she’s incredibly easy to work with—willing to be flexible—figuratively, but also literally, sometimes—and brings a positive attitude to the entire cast and crew.
“Yeah, she’s got some sort of virus. I don’t know. Anyway, we found the perfect replacement but—”
“But what? This is why you called, right?”
It’s Mark’s turn to sigh heavily and be silent. I’m weaving through traffic, as well as my mind. Who would be that bad to warrant calling me about it? And suddenly the pieces connect.
“Mark, it better not be—”
“It’s Sabrina Ryder. I’m sorry, Corey, I am. We tried every other possible option before we came to this decision.”
Now I laugh. It’s almost comical. This can’t be happening. In no universe will I be filming my last adult film with my ex-wife. “You sure she doesn’t have a clause in her contract or something? Might want to have legal triple check that.”
“She removed the clause about ‘no penetration by an ex-husband’ a few years ago,” Mark says, dismissing me. “Listen, I wasn’t calling you to ask for your permission. She’s already signed on, you’re already signed on, so let’s just get throughthis. Okay?”
I slam on my brakes as the car in front of me does the same. As expected, I’ve hit a sea of red brake lights just five minutes from the gym. Fucking perfect.
“Yeah, Mark, okay.” What else is there to say?
“Can you keep the drama off the set?”
I bite my tongue; drama wasn’t my thing—it was hers. Always hers.
“Sure thing, boss.”
