Not Safe for Work by Michael Estrin

Author:Michael Estrin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Slacker Press
Published: 2021-01-02T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 31: Interview with a shyster

“The free speech guys get the headlines,” Bobby Beauchamp says. “I’m all about the talent.”

His tone is professional—neither Lionel Hutz nor Jack McCoy, just Men’s Warehouse mediocre. I’m beginning to think Bobby Beauchamp is a halfway competent lawyer, until he makes a joke involving the head and lines we left in the other room.

I’d be laughing my ass off, if I were fourteen. Two weeks ago, I’d cringe a little on the inside, trying to hold back the puke through a forced grin. But today I am numb. After a week, these jokes are like wallpaper—obvious and pointless.

We’re in a small bedroom that doubles as Beauchamp’s office. A large desk occupies most of the room’s square footage—a bulwark of professionalism in a space that’s anything but.

I take notice of the framed magazines—Hustler, Penthouse, and pretty much every publication that comes wrapped in a black plastic bag at the few newsstands still in business. The magazine covers blanket the wall behind his desk, forming a pornographic collage—a glossy-lipped, big-hair tribute to the last days of printed smut.

“My clients,” he says, answering a question I didn’t ask.

Unlike most porn lawyers, Bobby Beauchamp works from home. This, he casually tells me, is because he likes to screw his clients.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he says. “This industry has some top-notch legal eagles, and if your ass is on the line with an obscenity charge, they’re the guys you want, no doubt. But I deal in pussy. Hot, wet pussy and cold, hard cash.”

“So...your...practice...” I say, trying to string together a question without much luck. “What area of law...?”

Beauchamp cuts a fresh line of coke on his desk and takes a bump without offering me any. I guess house rules dictate that once you decline blow you won’t be offered more.

“Contracts,” he says through a big, numb smile. “Susie Big Tits agrees to fuck X guys for Y dollars.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean—why? The dollars. The dinero. The cash, brother.”

He mutters something about taking the edge off as he lights a joint and says, “That’s why they call it the money shot. Don’t you know anything?”

“No, I mean, why do they need a lawyer?”

“So they don’t get fucked,” he says, before adding, “off camera.”

His tone is somehow equal parts blunt and opaque. I understand why a porn star would want a lawyer to negotiate top dollar for every scene, but what I’ll probably never understand is why they’d go with a guy like Bobby Beauchamp.

He inhales and holds in his hit as he says, “Anyway, that’s my line—pretty good, huh?”

Up until recently, my experience with pimps has been limited to Ice T and Three 6 Mafia songs, as well as the two scenes from Risky Business I always seem to catch whenever it’s on TNT. But despite my naïveté vis-à-vis pimpin’, I’m certain Bobby Beauchamp is the only whoremonger licensed by the California State Bar.

“I’m just like those entertainment lawyers on the other side of the hill,” he says. “Except my clients are total fucking perverts.

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