Mainstream

Acting

The sound of painful vomiting greeted Eddie as he walked downstairs to the kitchen the following morning.

"Eddie-baby," Helen managed to groan out from her spot on the kitchen floor, hugging a small trashcan, "I may have had too much to drink."

"Maybe," said Eddie, chuckling. "Is there anything I can get you?"

"Do you have any guns in the house?" asked Helen. "I need to borrow one, I got this, pain...right...here." She tapped herself on the forehead, just above her eyes. "Ugh, kill me now."

"I apologize, but I need to get to the studio," said Eddie.

"Sorry, I know you're busy, I just got so excited about my role," said Helen. She heaved violently into the wastebasket, but nothing came up save thick strands of saliva. "Thanks, by the way, I couldn't have gotten it without you."

"Do you have someone on the way?" asked Eddie.

"Yeah, already texted the crew," said Helen, spitting noisily into the wastebasket. "Ugh, no more drinking for a while. They're putting me on a strict diet and workout regiment for the movie."

"Sounds fun," said Eddie, grinning.

"It'll be awful," said Helen, loud breaths exhaled into the basket. "At least my trainer is a nice guy—very fit. I met him at the signing since he's kinda part of the deal."

"I wish him the best of luck finding some physical activity to hold your interest."

"I should ask him about pole fitness classes," said Helen, pausing as though about to vomit again, but nothing showed. "Waylon seems to really like pole dancing."

"W-Waylon?"

"Yeah, for his movie you're doing, he's going to pole dancing classes, he says it's a really tough workout, but it's fun."

Eddie busied himself counting tiles in the kitchen. Of course, the script called for Randall to dance on a pole. Eddie had assumed it would be professionals, body doubles, edited together to give enough of an idea that Randy could spin on a pole if needed.

Waylon was taking lessons. Eddie would get to see Waylon swinging around on a pole. And for some unknown reason, that interested him very much. Normal curiosity. Not because Waylon had a nice body and would probably be really good at pole dancing.

"You're not leaving tonight, right?" asked Helen.

"No, darling," said Eddie, "I'm not leaving until tomorrow."

Another round of dry heaving replaced any spoken answers, but Helen gave a thumbs up with her head down over the basket.

——

"Try again," said Miles, smirking from the tiny kitchen table.

"I'll...let you come with me on the location shoot, who knows what kinda wacky shit will happen when the crew is shooting at a strip club?"

"Hmm, maybe," said Miles, rubbing his chin in an obnoxiously obvious show of mulling over the offer.

"Um, I can give you dirt on the porn industry--insider knowledge," said Waylon, wringing his hands together. "I talked to the lady whose job it is to go back over and do the sound effects, she's gotta be edging seventy, and she watches the scene and shoves her fist in a peanut butter jar full of Vaseline, and..."

"Gross, absolutely no one wants to know about that," said Miles, shuddering.

"I know an actor that 'retired' but, word on set, he was actually dealing with rape accusations from his costars, or I can tell you how to determine if they're using real come or fake stuff..."