Chocolate Flava (Chocolate Flava 1)

“But why?” I said, sitting up, staring at my video bag on the sofa.

“Because you’re my Girl Friday. Jay and I discussed it, and we figure A, we can trust you (everyone else we thought of would enjoy it way too much); B, you’re a professional, sort of, at least you have the equipment and know how to use it; and C, since you’re between jobs, we figure you could use the cash. There’s a hundred bucks in it for you. If you say yes. Say yes, Rox.”

It was true, I was in-between jobs. I had been unemployed for months. I was having trouble landing even a Joe Job. And my unemployment insurance was running out. Like Jay, I was trained for one thing—as a photographer—but could only find work doing other things. (My last stint was as a clerk in a photocopy shop. And that didn’t go well. I could probably do with a new line of work altogether.)

“No, Jules,” I corrected her, crawling toward my bag. “Not why me, but why do you guys want to tape yourselves?”

“Oh,” she said dismissively, “this is something we always talked about doing, since before we were married. But we never felt the urge until now.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling inside my bag for my purse.

“So you’ll do it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Oh, come on, Rox. It’ll be fun.”

“Fun for you, maybe. We’ve known each other a long time, Jules, shared a lot of things. But videotaping you and Jay doing the nasty? Just hearing you two in the next room when we were roommates used to make me run for cover.”

“Look, Rox, we’re deeper than sisters. I’m just asking a favor. But Jay and I really can’t do this without you. We could set up a tripod, point the camera. But the final product would probably come out like those sad-looking, poorly edited, dimly lit wedding videos people force you to watch when you visit their house and they’ve run out of things to say.”

“You want a hand-held look?”

“Preferably. But not exclusively. I imagine some positions will be more difficult to tape than others. That’ll be up to you.”

“I haven’t said yes, Jules.” My hand stopped rummaging through my bag. I found my purse, opened it. I was down to my last twenty. The rent and electricity were paid, but I had no real food in the apartment. I debated how much more thin soup and weak tea I could stomach again this month.

“You haven’t said yes, yet. But you want to—you’re about to. I can tell. You know I can tell. Oh, look, Rox, just do it. For me? You can stop the camera anytime the action gets too hot for you.”

“And Jay’s a hundred percent all right with this?”

“Sure.”

“And you’re absolutely positive you’re okay with this?”

“Rox, would I be talking to you about it if I wasn’t? You know I don’t plan any trip without the intention of taking it.”

“When?” I said, replacing my purse, zipping the bag closed.

“Can you come over this afternoon? Jay’s off today.”

“How about one?” I said, eyeing my tripod by the bedroom door.

I checked myself in the elevator’s mirrors, straightening my beret and matching plaid vest. I shook out my blouse and smoothed my jeans. I noticed, feeling both anxious and proud, that my slim ass stuck out just a little, provocatively. Underneath my clothing, my bra and panties were sheer.

I stopped in mid-modeling. What the hell was I doing?

I wanted to look more than professional for the job—smart, sexy, like some hotshot independent filmmaker. Cool. In control. But all for what? The making of an amateur sex video that no one would see, starring my two best friends? A quick hundred bucks?

The elevator reached the sixth floor. I walked down the corridor to apartment 9A. As soon as Jules opened the door, I had second thoughts. Except for saying, “So here she is—my friend, the pornographer,” she greeted me as she always did: with a bright smile, a tight squeeze, a warm, lipsticked kiss on either cheek. And she was dressed in sweats that accentuated her rolling behind and swaying tits. As usual, she wore no underclothes when at home. But the normalcy of all this unnerved me.

“Where’s Jay?” I said, searching the room with my eyes. I didn’t want to move.

“In the bedroom.” Jules was smiling from ear to ear as if she couldn’t contain her excitement. “Shall we?”

“Jules,” I said, taking a step backward, my back right against the door. “I still don’t—”

“Uh-uh, girlfriend,” she said, shushing me. “If you’ve come this far, you can go all the way. I know you can. Now, no back talk. Did you bring the tripod?”