Chapter 49 – The Website Proposal
by Kleo EriliMaven looked up briefly from her phone when Chloe came through the door. She made only a vague gesture toward Ben’s office, like a traffic cop waving cars through.
“He’s waiting.”
“Thanks.”
It was strange how quickly she had gotten used to this office and meeting with her agent. As familiar as the school bus back in high school. Chloe shuddered briefly at the thought. Then she knocked and entered.
Ben’s desk was surprisingly messy, covered with printouts, spreadsheets, and highlighters around his open laptop. Ben himself stood behind the chaos, the sleeves of his expensive and slightly tasteless silk shirt rolled up, beaming at her as she entered.
“Sunshine! Sit down, I’ve got something for you.”
She sank into the chair. “What’s all this?”
“This,” Ben tapped the stack of papers solemnly, “is your future. Or rather, the draft of it.” He slid a stapled document across the table to her. “Your own website. Everything planned out.”
Chloe took the document and skimmed the first page. ChloeHeart.com – Concept & Business Plan.
“You already know the basic principle,” Ben explained, excitedly pacing back and forth in his small office. “Exclusive content behind a paywall. Monthly subscription, fans get stuff they can’t get anywhere else. Videos, photos, maybe a blog if you feel like it.”
“Sounds good so far.”
“But it’s not just about content.” He raised his index finger. “Merchandising. Posters, signed photos, underwear worn during your shoots – yes, that sells like crazy, don’t ask me why – anything that can be marketed under your name. And you need people to shoot with. Solo content works well, but only flicking your bean all the time isn’t enough. Your own website is a whole business, Sunshine, we have to set it up properly.”
Chloe nodded and continued leafing through the pages. Numbers, cost estimates, technical specifications, lots of things she wasn’t familiar with yet. Ben had actually done his homework. Or maybe paid someone to do it for him.
Then she saw it. Page four, printed in bold.
Revenue split: 50/50.
She put the document on the table and looked at Ben.
“Fifty-fifty?”
Ben sat back down and crossed his arms. “Fifty-fifty. Fair partnership.”
“Fair for whom?”
He laughed his oily laugh. “For both of us, of course. I bring the infrastructure, the contacts, the technical side. You bring-“
“Me,” said Chloe. “I bring myself. My body. My face. And most importantly, I bring my pussy and its growing fan base. People want to watch me spread my legs, Ben, not the guy in his basement who you pay to program the homepage.”
Ben blinked. Then he slowly leaned back.
“Okay. What do you have in mind?”
“80/20. In my favor.”
“80/20?” He grimaced as if she had punched him in the stomach. “Sunshine, please. Do you have any idea what hosting costs? Server security? Payment processing? Accounting? Tax advisors? It has to be at least 55/45, I have to pay people to build and maintain the site, I have to pay editors to edit the content, I-“
“You have connections, sure. But all the infrastructure you just listed is built on me. Without me, it’s just an empty website, no matter how nice it looks.” She leaned forward. “I have a growing social media presence. I am my own marketing. That should be reflected in the split.”
Ben chewed on his lower lip. You could literally see the calculator running behind his eyes.
“60/40,” he said.
“65/35. Plus full creative control for me.”
“Creative control?” He spoke the words as if he were hearing them for the first time. He looked at her with that sullen expression that made it clear he was both dissatisfied and knew that she wouldn’t budge.
He sat up straight in his chair. “Okay. 65/35. Creative control is yours. But I reserve the right to make suggestions.”
“As long as they remain suggestions.” Chloe nodded. “You’re experienced and you’re good at your job, so I’ll probably listen to most of it. But in the end, it’s my decision.”
Ben held out his hand. “Deal.”
She took it. His handshake was firm, almost too firm, but this time she held her own.
“What kind of revenue can I expect?” she asked as he released her hand.
Ben shook his head. “Hard to say. It depends on how much content you produce, how much work you put in, and whether you stay on your current path success wise. But if you really go for it” – he tapped one of the tables – “we’re talking somewhere between ten thousand and twenty thousand dollars a month. For you, after costs, taxes, and my share.”
Chloe stared at him.
Ten to twenty thousand. A month.
“If that’s true,” she said slowly, “why should I even shoot for other studios anymore?”
Ben smiled, and this time it was the smug smile of a teacher who was pleased to see that his student didn’t yet know everything, but had asked the right question, nonetheless.
“Because the two belong together. The studios make you famous. The website turns that fame into money. The studios give you reach and publicity, and the website gives you direct income and control. You need both if you want to build a real career. Symbiosis.” He spread his hands. “Give and take.”
Is this symbiosis stuff what the parasite tells the host it’s sitting on, Ben?
But it made sense. She hated that it made sense.
“Fine,” she said. “What else?”
Ben nodded contentedly. “The video production for the website. Do you already have someone in mind you want to shoot with? Familiar faces help with the launch.”
Chloe thought about it. “Maybe Steve? Steve Balls. We worked well together.”
“The guy from Sinful Stepsisters? Good idea, actually. It’s hard to believe, but the skinny twig actually has something of a fan base.” Ben nodded. “Should I contact him, or will you do it yourself?”
“I’ll do it.”
“Perfect.” He grabbed a notepad and scribbled something on it. “And as for the cameraman, I have someone in mind. Damien Carter. Good guy, reliable, does clean work at reasonable prices, I’ve worked with him many times.”
Chloe’s heart skipped a beat.
Damien Carter. Daz.
Damien “Daz” Carter. Samantha’s ex-boyfriend. The man who had argued with her on the night of her death. He had been the prime suspect until the police released him for some reason.
Her pulse pounded in her ears, but her hands lay calmly in her lap. Her face betrayed nothing.
“Sounds good,” she said. “If you say he’s good, I trust your judgment.”
This is an opportunity. Do not mess it up.
Ben made another note.
“Oh yes, I almost forgot. There’s one more thing. A journalist has sent a request for an interview with you. A Morgan Blake, apparently writes about the industry from time to time, as Maven told me. From the Valley City Times, so not the usual trade press.” He leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. “That’s good for you, Sunshine. Mainstream attention sometimes piques the curiosity of people who don’t normally pay much attention to the industry. That’s good for business. People talk about you more when they can claim they read about you in the Valley City Times, you know.”
He laughed. “Just don’t let it rattle you if you get asked any nonsense with a feminist slant or something like that. It’s not just the Bible thumpers anymore, but more and more liberal nutjobs who have a problem with porn.”
Morgan Blake.
The name hit her like an electric shock.
Morgan Blake was the journalist who had written about Samantha’s case. The articles that Chloe had cut out, collected, and read over and over again in her old childhood bedroom in Oak Springs. Blake had criticized the police, had written that the investigation had been sloppy, had kept Samantha’s case alive for a while when everyone else had long since moved on.
“Sounds good,” she said for the second time in a minute, grateful that her voice didn’t betray her emotions. “When?”
“Great! I’ll sort out the details and send you everything.” Ben grinned. “You know, Sunshine, you might be the smartest performer I’ve ever represented.”
I need to puke.
Chloe gave him a curt smile and stood up. “Thanks. Email me everything I need to sign again.”
~
Outside on the sidewalk, Chloe took her phone out of her pocket, opened her messages, and texted Steve.
Chloe put her phone away and happily called a taxi. Things were falling into place. The website. Daz as a cameraman, right under her nose, where she could easily get access to him. She would be able to film with Steve. And the interview! Should she try to discreetly steer the conversation toward Samantha to hear what this Blake guy knew?
Better not. The last thing I need is to attract the attention of a professional snoop.
She had to stay positive. After her investigation had reached a bit of a dead end, this was finally another good opportunity with Daz. And her career was also progressing.
I’m on a good way.
~
Chloe sat at the table where she usually met Elena, her legs crossed. She was wearing a short white summer dress and had put on her full Chloe Heart makeup in case the guy wanted to take pictures. After all, she had a brand to sell.
She had been ten minutes early and the journalist was now five minutes late.
Chloe sipped her iced tea and checked her phone for the third time. No message. No “Sorry, I’ll be there soon.” But maybe Ben hadn’t given him her number. She watched the door and went over the answers she and Maven had prepared. The story of the small-town girl finally living her dream in the big city. So exciting. So grateful for the opportunities. So passionate.
Just smile and reel off the usual platitudes. You don’t even have to fuck him afterwards.
A few tables behind her, two men were talking quietly about some new production at Erotica Kings that was causing problems because apparently scheduled performers had dropped out twice in a row due to gonorrhea. At the next table, a young woman who vaguely seemed familiar to her as a performer was scrolling through her phone while her companion, an older, muscular guy with tattoos, was talking to her urgently.
The heavy glass door opened and someone came in, but it wasn’t the journalist, it was a slightly androgynous but not unattractive woman in her late twenties with short, wavy black hair that barely reached her ears and a thin, worn leather jacket with rolled-up sleeves.
My goodness, who wears a leather jacket in this heat?
The woman’s gaze swept across the bistro, found Chloe, and she came straight over to her.
“Chloe Heart?” She held out her hand. “Morgan Blake. Valley City Times.”
Chloe shook her hand. The grip was surprisingly firm.
“Hi! Nice to meet you!” Chloe smiled her radiant Chloe Heart smile. “I don’t even know why, but I honestly thought you were a man, sorry.”
“No problem.” Morgan sat down and hung her leather jacket over the back of the chair. “That happens a lot. Probably because of my name. Or my job. Or both.” She said it without the slightest hint of being offended, more like someone who has heard the same joke a thousand times and can only manage a slight smile at the punchline.
Morgan pulled a small digital recorder out of her jacket pocket and placed it on the table. “Is it okay if I record this? Just so I don’t have to reconstruct everything from memory afterwards. My handwriting is terrible.”
“Sure, no problem!” Chloe made a welcoming gesture. “Ask whatever you want.”
Morgan pressed record.
The first questions were exactly what Chloe had expected. How she got into the industry. What she loved most about her job. What challenges she faced as a newcomer trying to gain a foothold.
Chloe provided the appropriate answers with just the right mix of enthusiasm and modesty.
“To be honest, I’ve always been a very sexual person,” she said, playing with the straw in her iced tea. “And when I stood in front of the camera for the first time, I realized, wow, this is it, I enjoy this, it turns me on, you know? It was such a revelation.”
Thanks for the phrasing, Maven.
Morgan listened and took notes on a small pad, even though the recorder was running. Her questions were detailed but not aggressive. No trick questions, no implied insinuations, everything completely professional, friendly even.
Chloe relaxed.
Morgan asked with particular interest about her preparation for scenes.
“I mainly do yoga, that’s kind of my foundation,” Chloe explained. “Yoga keeps me fit and flexible, and an added bonus is that it also helps me clear my head. I really recommend it to everyone!”
“And how do you prepare mentally? Apart from yoga, I mean?”
Chloe smiled. “Well, every scene is always a new challenge and a new opportunity to create something special or try something I’ve always wanted to do. I try to fully immerse myself in the moment and just have fun.”
The waitress came over and Morgan ordered a plain coffee.
“Is there anyone in the industry you particularly admire?” Morgan asked, twirling her pen between her fingers. “A role model, so to speak?”
Chloe paused briefly to think of an evasive answer. “Oh, there are so many, I can’t decide! I actually admire everyone I work with. Everyone brings something unique to the table, and the passion and professionalism of everyone is really inspiring.”
Blah, blah, blah.
Morgan nodded and wrote something down in her notebook. The waitress brought the coffee and Morgan took a sip. Then she said, almost casually, her eyes still fixed on her notes:
“Interesting. I’ve noticed in conversations with people in the industry that one name keeps coming up when it comes to you and role models. Samantha Sparkles.”
Something shifted in Chloe’s chest. It was as if her heart had fallen down the stairs.
“Oh, yes, Samantha Sparkles!” Chloe nodded. “I like her! I watched some of her stuff from time to time, before I started.”
“Mm-hmm.” Morgan looked up from her notepad. Her eyes were attentive, no longer casual. “The thing is, Samantha’s been dead for three years. Most people in the industry hardly talk about her anymore. But you seem to mention her quite often. I’ve noticed that.”
Her heart dropped down another floor. She reached for her glass and took a sip, mainly to keep her hands busy.
“I wouldn’t say I mention her that often.” She laughed lightly. “I mean, it’s normal in the industry to talk about the stuff you like, right? About porn you’ve seen, about performers who have impressed you.”
“Sure.” Morgan nodded slowly. “Of course.”
Silence. Two or three seconds longer than was comfortable. Then Morgan reached into the inside pocket of her leather jacket.
She pulled out a small photo and slid it across the table without saying a word.
Chloe looked down.
The photo showed two girls with sunlight on their faces, standing next to an apple tree. The smaller one, maybe eight or nine, with a gap-toothed grin and blonde pigtails. The taller one, a teenager, had her arm around the little one’s shoulder and her head was thrown back with laughter.
It had been a summer day in Oak Springs, in the garden behind the house, next to the apple tree. Dorsett Golden apples grew there. When she was six, she had fallen down this tree while picking apples and broken her arm. Samantha had painted flowers and hearts on her cast.
The sounds of the bistro grew quieter, as if someone had turned down the volume. The scraping of chairs, the murmur of conversation, the hissing of the espresso machine, all of it suddenly receded into the distance.
Chloe’s hands lay motionless on the table. Her fingers touched the edge of the photo without lifting it.
Sam.
She could remember the day. Her mother had taken the photo on the last weekend before school started. Samantha had just celebrated her fifteenth birthday and Chloe had given her a homemade necklace, which broke that same evening.
Chloe had forgotten how to breathe.
She just stared at the photo, unable to look away, unable to move. The two girls in the picture smiled at her, and the smile came from a world that no longer existed. Just like the two girls.
“Where did you get that?”
Steveeeeee! Also, I knew it wasn’t just a coincidence… My heart dropped at the same time. I hope Chloe gets an ally out of this meeting, cause she is facing all of this alone ( it’ always better to have multiple brains together)
Let’s wait and see!
I’m keeping my eyes open! (⊙_⊙)