Death of a Blue Movie Star

troubles.
    And then they confiscated the tear gas.

     
    After cleaning up, putting hydrogen peroxide on the scrapes and digging a new tear gas canister out from under the sink, Rune went to L&R Productions.
    “‘ey, what’ve we got ’ere?” Bob asked, examining her face.
    She wasn’t about to tell him that the injuries might have to do with her movie—since it was L&R’s Betacam that would be at risk if she got machine-gunned down on the street.
    “Guy hassled me. I beat the crap out of him.”
    “Uh-huh,” Bob said skeptically.
    “Listen, after work, I need to borrow the camera again. And some lights.”
    Bob, in a lecturing mood, said to her, “You know what this is, Rune?” Rubbing the large video camera as if it were a blonde’s rump.
    “Larry said it was okay. I’ve used it before.”
    “Humor an old man, luv. Tell me. What is it?”
    “It’s a Betacam video camera, Bob. It’s made by Sony. It has an Ampex deck. I’ve used one about fifty times.”
    “Do you know how much they cost?”
    “More than you’ll ever pay me in my lifetime, I’ll bet.”
    “Ha. It’s worth forty-seven thousand dollars.” He paused for dramatic effect.
    “Larry told me that the first time he loaned it to me. I didn’t think it’d gone down in value.”
    “You lose it, you break it, you burn out the tube, you pay for it.”
    “I’ll be careful, Bob.”
    “Do you know what forty-seven thousand dollars will buy?” he asked philosophically. “A man could take forty-seven thousand dollars, move to Guatemala and live like a king for the rest of his life.”
    “I’ll be careful.” Rune began numbering storyboards for a TV commercial estimate that Larry and Bob were bidding on next week.
    “Like a king for the rest of his days,” Bob called out, retreating into the studio.

     
    Rune set the Sony up on the deck of her houseboat, next to a single 400-watt Redhead lamp. She tore bits of silver gaffer tape from a large roll and with them mounted a pink gel on the black metal barn doors of the lamp. It put a soft glow on Shelly’s face.
    To master cinematography, luv, you master light
, Larry had told her.
    She added a small fill lamp behind Shelly.
    Rune also found she was picking up the lights of the city over the actress’s head, without any flare or afterimage.
    Looking through the eyepiece, she thought, Totally excellent.
    Thinking too: It also looks like I know what I’m doing. She was very eager to impress her subject.
    As she’d been stuffing the storyboards into an envelope Rune had been thinking up questions for Shelly. Jotting them on a yellow pad. But now, as she turned the light on and started the tape rolling, she hesitated. The questions reminded her of her journalism course in high school.
    Uhm, when did you get started in the business?
    Uhm, what’re your favorite movies, other than adult movies?
    Did you go to college and what did you major in?
    Shelly, though, didn’t need any questions. Rune got the opening shot she’d been planning all along—an ECU, extreme close-up, of those reactor-blue eyes—then pulled back. Shelly smiled and began to talk. She had a low, pleasing voice and seemed wholly in control, confident, like those feisty women senators and stockbrokers you see on PBS talk shows.
    The first hour or so Shelly discussed the pornography industry in a matter-of-fact, businesslike way. Adult films were experiencing a reluctant death. They were no longer chic and trendy, as some had proclaimed them to be in the seventies. The excitement of illicit thrills was gone. The religious right and conservatives were more active. But, Shelly explained, there were other factors that helped the business. Certainly AIDS was a consideration. “Watching sex is the safest sex.” Also, people tended to be more faithful now; with fewer affairs, couples experimented more at home. You didn’t have to go to some stinky theater in a tawdry part of town. You and your partner could watch sexual acrobatics in your own bedroom.
    The mechanics for viewing porn had changed too. “VCRs’re the biggest contributor to the new popularity,” she explained. Porn, Shelly felt, was meant for the video medium. “Fifteen years ago, the heyday of big-production porn, the budgets for a film sometimes hit a million dollars.” There were elaborate special effects and constructed sets and costumes and ninety-page screenplays that the actors memorized. They were shot on 35mm film in Technicolor. The