hidden by Tomas Mournian

Author:Tomas Mournian [Mournian, Tomas]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-7582-6798-6
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2011-06-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 52

“This guy made a reel—clips of my shows. He threatened me. He said, ‘I’ll send it to your mom if you don’t get with me.’ I told that bitch, ‘No fucking way are you blackmailing me.’”

“And he sent it?”

“Yup.”

“That’s when your dad found out and got mad?”

“Hell, no! Dad wanted in. Fuckin’ deadbeat. Dude loves trannies. Anita’s his idea of Miss America. He didn’t give a shit about what I was doing. It was about the Benjamins. He’s the one who busted me and set me up to do more shows. We made bank. I was way fucked up on drugs. He started pimpin’ me out for reals.”

“Pimp you? Like, sell you for sex?”

“Girls, boys, their dads, grannies. For Sale. Stamped it on my body.”

Hammer’s so matter-of-fact about incest and his Pimp Daddy. My father, Moustapha, is a monster, but I doubt pimping me out ever crossed his mind.

“Wait, so you’re bi, or—?”

“I’m whatev. Hole’s a hole. But then—” Hammer’s attention shifts back to his performance.

“Can I guess?”

“Go for it.”

“He wanted in on the action?”

“Dude! How’d you know? I split. Back to mom’s house and that’s when—” He punctuates his thought with a move. “I got sent down, dude, down.”

Compared to Hammer’s story, mine feels lame. Maybe it wasn’t so bad? Reality check: closet, cam whore. For a moment, I consider. Stand. Walk out. Call home.

He stares at me, unbuckles the belt. He’s got this weird half smile on his face. I can’t read his expression. Blank. Cam whore? Or, serial killer? He’s here, but not. I know that face. If not the same face, then the feeling underneath. Dead. I bet he learned it from being with his dad. Or, it settled over his face, like a scarf. Working for his dad. Doing. The way I—

“No!” I shout out and cut off the thought. Hammer’s so far gone, he doesn’t notice. Then, I remember: He’s looking at the Webcam over my forehead. Duh. “Blank” is his show face. But there’s nagging questions. What came first: the blank face? Or, the cam show?

“Peanuts types for you?” I ask. I want to grasp the “how” and “why” of this cam whore show.

He slides the belt out, slow as a rattlesnake on the creep. Done, he dangles it off his index finger.

“I had the number one ranking on this portal. This other kid knocked me down. Peanuts sends him an e-mail and says—hey, can you move the camera so it’s on my hands?” I play with the toggle and move the camera eye down, to his hands. I like being in control. Deciding what the “audience” sees. “The next day, that kid’s site was gone. Gone. After that, me and Peanuts, we tight.”

“You’re not worried about your dad finding you?”

“Whatta you mean?”

I twitch. My mind’s eye flashes on Blue-Eyed Bob’s face.

“Track you down.”

“Naw.” He knocks back the baseball cap. Chin up, he reveals his face. He curls his upper lip. Snarls. Now, he looks more perfect than perfect. Part man, part boy and all sex.

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