Burn for You (Club Mephisto 2)
A long sigh sounded over the line. “The ones I saw were just party-type photos. Provocative, but not damning. Several producers and movie execs were named too, but you and Jeremy Gray are the celebrities, so you’re the ones everyone will talk about. And Jeremy is married, a family man. With a kid.”
“So he’ll look worse than me?”
“No, better, because it will look like he’s settled down from all that nonsense. You, on the other hand, just got divorced.”
“From Jessamine Jackson! She’s the sexual deviant, not me.” A bit of a lie. “I mean, she was ten times more promiscuous than I was. I hope she’s being dragged down in all this too.”
“This person claims Jess divorced you because you were into sado-masochism and she wasn’t. The source paints Jess as the victim to your sick sex demands.”
Jesus Christ. That was so untrue. Yes, he’d been into BDSM and Jess hadn’t been, but they’d broken up over a whole hell of a lot more than that.
“Is all this legit?” Shane’s strident voice interrupted the hurtful memories. “Talk to me, Mason. Orgies, kinky sex, partner swapping parties with twenty or more people?”
“Twenty is kind of an exaggeration.”
“Is it true?” Shane barked.
“It’s...possibly true.”
“Come on!”
“Okay, yes, that stuff goes on. But we’ve been discreet. I don’t know who would be out there talking about this. Not Jessamine?”
“If it was Jessamine, they would have revealed her as the source to make it an even bigger story. But it’s a killer as it is. You’re the all-American movie star. The hunky, relatable guy. Now everyone’s going to be picturing you in a black leather mask with a whip, presiding over orgies.”
“Jessamine always ran the orgies.”
His publicist made a sound like his brain was exploding. “Mason, goddamn it.”
“Okay! Okay. So what do you suggest I do?”
“Don’t open your door. Don’t talk to any reporters. Lay low for a while and hope it disappears quickly, that people are too embarrassed to talk about it. Don’t even leave your house.”
“I’m working on a movie!”
“Oh yeah.” Shane sighed again, heavy and long. “A movie about a sick, sexually deranged individual, if I remember correctly.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Jesus Christ. You don’t pay me enough for this shit.”
“I know.” Mason turned onto his street, cursed for a full fifteen seconds, and turned a corner to go the other way. The front of his house was crawling with media trucks and paparazzi. The gate was blocked by photographers in a line, waiting for the money shot. He wouldn’t be safe at a hotel. As soon as he checked in, someone would call whatever pap was in their pocket. He couldn’t go to Jeremy’s house, or Kai’s, or any of his friends who had probably been named in the scandal, because they would be blanketed with paparazzi too. Anything sex related became a media feeding frenzy. This was bad, really bad.
He’d have to sleep in his trailer on the movie set, if he could even get on the lot at this hour.
He was fucked.