Page 137 of Notorious

When we get to Mama’s, she’s walking around. Slowly, but she seems stronger than before.

“Hey, Mama,” I say, giving her a gentle hug.

“John, you’re a sight,” she says. “Always so handsome. And Kurt, it’s good to see you.” Her eyes well with tears. “I’m sorry for gettin’ emotional. I’m just so grateful for your mama.”

“She’s a good egg, isn’t she?”

“Do you think she really has a chance at the White House?”

“She’s leading in the polls right now,” he says. “And I’ve never known her to fail at anything she put her mind to.”

“She deserves every success,” Mama says. “She’s a keeper. Like her son.”

Two months later, I glance around the movie set, which is being prepped for a shoot. The soundstage is dressed for a period drama in which a penniless stranger is going to have sex with a handsome duke.

This ain’t a porn production. It’s part of a scripted series on a streaming service. My job is to go through all of the movements with the actors and ensure they are completely on board with who will be touching what, and how. I’ve read through the contracts and know what each actor has agreed to do and not do.

“Okay,” I say, flipping to the next page in the script. “In this scene, Tristan and Johan are overcome with passion and are going to have oral sex, so let’s talk about how that’s going to be shown on the screen and what y’all are comfortable with doing.” The actors are in robes, and we lounge on the bed, talking through the choreography of their upcoming scenes.

I’ve got no qualms about talking about sex in a plain manner. And I’m really good at making sure that everyone is on board. That we’re all speaking the same language. That they are in agreement with every touch, every kiss, every part of their body that will be shown on camera. That there are going to be no surprises and no one is going to feel that what they are doing is wrong. That no one is going to get hurt or go beyond their comfort zone.

This is the most important job I’ve ever had.

When I’m done for the day, it’s not too far to Burbank, where Kurt’s working at Weston & Ramirez House. We carpooled today, knowing that we were going to be in the same neighborhood, and I pull up in my old truck, which Kurt managed to track down, since my neighbor had sold it. He somehow found it via the VIN, but he did me the honor of not buying it for me.

I appreciate that more than he’ll ever know. Even though I have plenty of money now, I still wanna have some things be mine, and since I was the one who sold it, I wanted to buy it back. It felt important, and I’m glad Kurt got that.

Weston & Ramirez House looks like a normal middle-class family home, although the area’s a little gentrified now, Noah told me. I knock on the door and walk in.

My husband’s standing at an easel in the living room. Two other easels are on either side of him, so the kids standing at them can see what he’s doing on his canvas. Tarps cover the floor. Kurt turns around and smiles when he sees me. I recognize the two teens he’s teaching, Toby and Quint, and they wave at me.

“Howdy,” I say.

“Hey, babe,” Kurt says, giving me a quick kiss. “I have a little more to do.”

“Don’t mind me. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

Kurt continues with his art lesson, while I settle back to watch. “If you layer in color like this, you can get this 3D effect.”

The two teens copy his brushstrokes on their own canvases. He does a few more strokes, then goes over to watch what they’re doing.

“That’s terrific,” he says. “Toby, that’s awesome.”

“Thanks,” Toby says.

The resident assistant comes in with two other teens, and the kids close up the art projects for the day.

“See you tomorrow,” Kurt says, as the kids wave at him. Well, most of them do. One doesn’t, and he looks somewhat sullen.

Kurt goes up and whispers something in the kid’s ear. After a moment, the kid nods, and Kurt smiles.

When we get out to the truck, I unlock his door and ask what he’d said.

He pauses with a foot on the side step. “I just made him promise to stay alive until I saw him again.”

I inhale sharply. “Damn, babe.”

“Yeah. Some of these kids have had it real rough. We bring in medical care for them. Therapists. Counselors. All kinds of help.”

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