talked to the instructor. Kirk needed to step it up. He’d been dialing it in as much as Brody had begun to do.
“I’m thinking we could cut this piece—” she shuttled the video further “—and shift to here. Do you agree?”
She sat so close he could smell the strawberry scent of her clear lip gloss. JJ wore little makeup. She didn’t need it, as far as he could see.
“Uh, yes,” he finally said, realizing she was waiting for his reply. “Looks good.”
“I don’t want to push you into shots you don’t want, so tell me to back off when I’m out of line.”
“I’m always up for a better idea. You didn’t mind the multiple takes?”
“Not at all. I want to do this right. Like I said.”
“Yeah.” He paused, lost in her steady, green eyes. “Like you said.”
“So, am I giving you what you need?”
Not yet, but I have some ideas…. He cleared his throat. “You’re doing great.”
“Except that extra interview threw us off,” Eve said, evidently listening in. “We have to keep on schedule or the shoot spirals out of control, JJ.”
“You’re so tough, Eve. Mistress Mona could take lessons,” Brody said, trying to tease away his producer’s edginess.
“What’s the deal with Eve and me?” JJ muttered very low.
“Later,” he said softly, then raised his tone to a conversational level. “So now on to condoms, right? I’ll ask the guy about what’s new—materials, shapes, colors, textures—and find out what’s popular these days.”
“Here’s an idea,” JJ said. “What if we also interview women about the features? Cut back and forth from the factory guy describing the item to the users’ take on the feature.”
“That’s pretty arty for Doctor Nite.” He shook his head in mock disapproval. “But we want to stay fresh, right, Eve?” He leaned forward to involve her in the conversation.
“We’d need samples from the factory. And what women would we use?” Eve asked, then answered her own question, clearly intrigued by the challenge. “Privilege has tons of models. It could work. I just wish you’d think of these things earlier.”
“Come on. You know you love to perform last-minute miracles, Eve.” She’d do anything to make the show better. He winked at JJ, who shot him a thumbs-up.
He liked that. It felt like the old days, when the nutty chaos and crazy energy of location shoots had energized rather than exhausted him. It was all due to JJ—her skill, ideas and liveliness. At the moment, despite how distracting she was, he was glad he’d hired her.
BY THE TIME they pulled into the driveway of the Xanadu at close to midnight, JJ was physically and emotionally wiped out. Physically, her shoulders throbbed from all the handheld work and schlepping her heavy tripod—it had better fluid heads for panning.
Emotionally, she’d been on a roller coaster. Bondage School had been surreal, but she’d maintained her professionalism. The condom factory had been fascinating. Then they’d hit the bars and started on the typical Doctor Nite segments, which had bothered her. She’d shot women pretending to be turned on as they unrolled condoms onto bananas from the bartender’s daiquiri supply or onto Brody’s fingers, while Brody made suggestive remarks. All night, women rubbed against him. Two of them flashed boobs at him, nearby men howling like jackals.
Jillian gritted her teeth the whole time. It was her job to go along with the exploitive, offensive aspects of the show. Hell, she was making the show better. She couldn’t help herself.
She vowed to get in the woman’s view wherever she could. Getting women’s opinions of condoms had been a start. Though each conversation deteriorated into flirting with Brody.
That didn’t surprise her. Despite his offensive on-camera persona, Brody charmed her more and more, adding to her confusion. He seemed untouched by fame. Everywhere they went, people demanded autographs, hugs, handshakes, kisses, sometimes full-body humps, depending on the sex and drunkenness of the fan. Brody remained patient and gracious, smiling at the hero worship, signing his name on whatever he was offered—a sodden napkin, tattered bar menu, a bare back or a naked breast.
Plus, she approved of how he worked. He was demanding, quick to dump a setup for something better, no matter how long it had taken to arrange. That was how she worked, too. He asked for her feedback and retook every shot she had doubts about.
The physical closeness was wearisome, too. Man-woman electricity hummed and snapped constantly. But these moments of mind-reading teamwork were the worst, shooting ever more powerful jolts of attraction straight through her.
Shaky from the emotional whiplash of the day—loving her work and hating it, fighting her attraction to Brody and being drawn deeper into it—Jillian was relieved they were done for the night. A tension headache raged behind her eyes.
Brody led the way into the crowded lobby of the Xanadu, decorated everywhere with patriotic-hued bunting in honor of the political convention being held there, and Jillian couldn’t wait to get upstairs and fall into bed.
“I see more condom opinions dead ahead,” Brody said, motioning toward the lobby bar, packed with people wearing convention name tags. He turned to her, took in her face and hesitated. “Unless you’re too tired?”
“Of course not.” JJ managed a smile, determined to be a trouper. “Lead the way.” She hefted her camera onto her shoulder and followed Brody to a table of four women who turned out to be just tipsy enough to say yes to interviews.
Brian and Bob set up lights and sound while Eve nabbed releases, and in minutes they were rolling.
“Condoms prevent disease and pregnancy. Period,” a blonde in glasses said. “They’re like brushing your teeth to prevent cavities. A necessary pain in the ass.”
“What’s with the ribs and colors?” added a brunette in a chignon. “You can’t feel those teensy bumps and who cares what color it is?”
“And the flavored ones? Forget it,” added a black woman with cornrows, shaking her head so the beads rattled. “They taste like the rubber dams my dentist uses.”
“Plus, they’re like thirty calories each,” added a rail-thin redhead.
“No!” said the blonde. “Not thirty? Aren’t they sugarless?”
“Don’t get fancy, I say,” declared the redhead. “Just make them with no holes. Functional. And, for God’s sake, men, practice. The fumbling has got to go.”
They wrapped the shoot, which she’d enjoyed despite her headache, and the crew disappeared. She noticed one of the women slipping Brody a business card with what looked like a room number on it. Ah, her cue to escape. She was relieved, since she’d planned to ask Brody for an interview after the shoot, but was entirely too tired to try for it. Now it was impossible.
“I’ll head upstairs,” she said, backing away.
“Me, too,” Brody said, half-rising, as if he were leaving, but the women made disappointed noises and she knew they’d keep him longer.
At the gift shop, Jillian had to wait for the sleepy clerk to find her an aspirin packet she could buy, but finally she was in the elevator, relieved to be away from Brody and her growing attraction to the man.
It was ridiculous, she told herself. The man was probably a sociopath. Certainly his TV character was, treating women like enemies to be conquered, sex objects to be preyed upon. The show’s message was “Screw anything in skirts, then run like hell.” She hated that attitude. Meanwhile, she kept reliving the pleasure of his eyes on hers, his hand at her back, his thigh rubbing against hers in the van. What a girl she was.
On her floor,