Gretchen pursed her lips as she thought for a moment.
Pearl leaned forward, like the three of us were just a few girls talking at a slumber party. “Tongue,” she said with a wink. “Hopeflix doesn’t even let us show that kind of stuff, so a good old chaste stage kiss is all we need.”
My whole body froze, the blood draining from my face. “Oh.” I couldn’t hide how horrified I was. Of course the kiss this morning was meant to be a stage kiss, and of course I stuck my tongue down Nolan Shaw’s throat like we were filming some kind of soft-core foreplay. “I—I guess I just got caught up in the moment.”
“And that’s what we love about you,” Pearl said, her voice bordering on otherworldly.
Gretchen nodded, her gaze of endearment lingering on Pearl as if even she knew that her girlfriend and screenwriter was some sort of fairylike being made of cotton candy and moon rocks. “We just don’t want you to think that’s required of you.”
I stood then and nodded. I had to go upstairs before my entire body burst into flames of embarrassment. “Totally,” I said. “And thank you. I appreciate that.”
“Good night,” they both cooed as I waved goodbye before disappearing into the stairwell.
Great.Delightful. First day on the job of an actual movie that wasn’t a porno and I snaked my filthy tongue into my costar’s mouth like I was clearing his dang pipes. Just lovely. Maybe tomorrow I would unhinge my jaw and swallow him whole while the crew watched.
In my room, I traded my opaque tights, corduroy skirt, and slouchy sweater for my ex-boyfriend’s old undershirt that I couldn’t seem to get rid of. (It was soft, okay?) After threading my septum piercing back in place and putting on a freshly opened sheet mask, I settled into bed with my laptop and did something I’d been meaning to do since I arrived.
“Proof! Of! Life!” Mama Pam shrieked the moment her face lit up my screen, and I saw so many of my features reflected back to me. Our button noses and rounded jawlines with full cheeks and the same ivory complexion with warm undertones.
“Hiiiiiii,” I said sheepishly, trying not to move my face too much so that my face mask didn’t slide right off.
“Del!” she called over her shoulder for my other mother, Delia. “Bee’s on the phone! Get in here.”
Even through the speakers of my computer, I could hear the pounding of Mom’s steps as she came back downstairs, already midway through her bedtime routine, surely. I didn’t know when or why, but Mom had always been Mom and Mama Pam had always been Mama Pam and my relationship with each of them was equally distinct. Mom was more of a hard-ass, with near impossible expectations at times, while Mama Pam was always there to remind Mom that I wasn’t perfect and didn’t have to be.
Mom saddled up next to Mama Pam at the kitchen table, taking the phone from her and turning it sideways so they were both in the frame. Mom’s long dark hair was twisted into a thick braid pulled over her shoulder and over her heart. She wore the baby-pink terry cloth headband that she used everynight to hold her hair back during her multistep skin-care routine.
“It’s not proof of life if we can’t see your face, baby,” Mom said. “But I’m glad to see you taking care of your skin.”
I rolled my eyes, and Mama Pam, who used bar soap and two-in-one shampoo and conditioner, shrugged.
“Your text message said you were going to Vermont?” Mom asked.
“Must be quite the job if you’re filming on location,” Mama Pam said.
The both of them had always been deeply supportive, even if it did take Mom a few months to catch up with Mama Pam’s enthusiasm. And even though they never shied away from calling me an adult-film performer or a ClosedDoors model, they mostly referred to my actual job in general terms.Filming. Gigs.Those were easier words for us to communicate in.
“Is it snowing there?” asked Mama Pam, who, unlike Mom, was born and bred in small-town Texas and whose winter coat was a windbreaker.
“Actually, the flurries just started again when I was on my way back to the hotel.”
Mom sighed. “How lovely to experience a little bit of snow around Christmastime.”
“Speaking of Christmas...” I said.
“Yes,” Mama Pam interjected. “We need to talk about Christmas Eve. The Turners invited us over for their annual party. Apparently, they’ve got the gay men’s choir from St.Paul’s Episcopal as entertainment, but we wanted to leave it up to you.”
Mom leaned her head against Mama Pam’s shoulder. “Oh come now, tell her the truth. We just don’t want to share you with anyone else while you’re home.”
I needed to tell them. Mama Pam might cry and Mom might crawl through this screen to kill me herself, but I had to tell them.
Mama Pam nodded. “But the choir is very tempting. They’re nearly impossible to book these days and—”
“I won’t be home for Christmas,” I blurted.
The two of them were so silent that I had to check and make sure they hadn’t frozen. “Are y’all still there?” I asked, my voice creeping into its Texas roots. “Moms?”
Mom cleared her throat after a long moment. “Yes, dear, we’re still here, but I don’t think we heard you correctly.”
