"It's like how every FBI agent gets to be a special agent, every girl who does porn is a porn star?"
My mom looks dubious. I have been trying to explain things to her all night. Part of her confusion may be caused by the fact that she is drinking. Actually, it is just one drink, but this is only the second time in my life I've seen her have one. I didn't have to ask her why she ordered it. In front of us a girl is talking to her boyfriend about doing her first anal scene, and television screens around Seven display two girls getting it on.
The dates the cheapest fare was available, not convenience, had determined the timing of my mom's trip from Philadelphia. So we both knew I'd have to work one of the nights she was visiting. I expected her and her husband to enjoy that night in Las Vegas without me. But my mom had a very different idea: "We'll come with you. I am here to visit you, and it will be fun to see you work." She insisted on going even after I explained to her that the event was a premiere party to publicize a pay-per-view series Can You Be a Porn Star?
"Well, that will be different," was all she said.
We were among the first guests to arrive. Sensing calamity, I didn't want to get there so soon, but my mom—who remains mystified that anyone employs me—was convinced that I would get in trouble if we were late. That meant that when we sat down, there were still plenty of the free multicolored Can You Be A Porn Star condoms. My mom picked one up and inspected it. "What is it?" she asked. I told her, and she put it down. "I've never seen one before. Why are they all in different colors? What color are they normally?" "Cream," a woman at our table offered, helpfully. My mom gaped at her and said nothing. I was tempted to puncture this innocent act by asking my mom how she'd known that, unlike, say, cars, condoms have a typical color. But then I realized that there was no possible answer my mom could offer that I wanted to hear. So I focused on work and directed my questions to the onscreen talent.
By then the party was going strong. The hosts, established porn stars Tabitha Stevens and Mary Carey, came and sat on either side of me: "We love a man between us," Mary said. They giggled, and sat very, very close to me. They touched my arms, one rubbed my shoulder a bit and in general made me feel like I was in a Snoop video. But I've been around porn chicks long enough to know that they weren't really hot for me, they were just using me to flirt with you, oh, Las Vegas Weekly readers. Of course, this was all new to Mom, who likely thought the two sluts were about to have their filthy way with me. Of course, that didn't happen (sigh!). The second the tape recorder was off, Mary, Tabitha and I shook hands, as if at the end of a meeting, and the girls headed off to the next interviewer without looking back once.
My mom looked a bit relieved. But this was around the time she went for that drink, and I promised to finish my work quickly. "Take as long as you need. I'm fine," she said, unconvincingly.
I asked porn star wannabe Sarah, 23, from Terre Haute, Indiana, why she was interested in this career. "I love to f--k," she said without hesitation. In jeans and a T-shirt, Sarah still looks like a midwestern girl next door. My mom said nothing to her, only stared.
Of course, on the way back to her hotel she had plenty to say about Sarah: "What must her family think? What happens when she has children one day, and they find out she did this? I just can't believe that anyone would just blurt out, 'I love sex' like that!"
"That isn't exactly how she put it," I said.
"Oh," my mom said, remembering. She said nothing else.
We haven't talked about the party since. I hope we never do.