Mr. Vissel was putting a lot on my brains. I was thinking about pussy myself, even while he shot my pictures.

I finally smiled and joked to him, “So, you don’t think about it anymore? You just use it for everyone else?”

Marcus laughed with me. He said, “Sure I do, I’m still an artist. Artists love pussy. But I’m trying to figure out the life strategies of the other guys. I’m trying to figure us all out.”

“So, all of this is like a big picture to you, huh? And you’re trying to focus your camera on it all?”

“Exactly,” he told me. “I’m working on my next masterpiece. That’s why I’m trying to include you in it. I’m trying to include all of my good friends.”

I nodded to him. “Thanks. I’m learning a lot out here.”

We shot for seven hours, inside and outside of the restaurant with plenty of breaks in between before our day was done. Before I left with Billy, Marcus pulled me aside again and asked me, “Have you given it any thought yet?”

There was so much to think about that I had no idea what specific thought he was referring to.

“Think about what?” I asked him.

He shook his head. “This here restaurant business is totally separate. It’s something I have to learn. But the illusion of the high life and fantasy sex, I’ve already mastered. Sex is selling like never before, Terrance. And you better believe it. You’re still a great-looking guy, so you need to take advantage of that.”

I grinned and said, “How, by being an American gigolo?”

Mr. Vissel was not amused. He kept a straight face and said, “You figure it out for yourself, however you want to be involved in it. Just remember not to let it control you, you always want to control it.”

I nodded to him again. “Okay. I got you.”

He nodded back. “I hope you do.”

I DROVE BACK into the California sun with Billy in the red Ferrari. It was late afternoon by then, on a Saturday, and everyone was loving our ride.

“What kind of car do you drive at home?” Billy asked me.

“A Mercedes CL Coupe, AMG model.”

He nodded. “Is it black?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s the only color that looks good in Mercedes. They make awesome cars, but the paint jobs are really lousy.

“So, where do you wanna go now?” he asked me.

“First I have to get that phone back from my hotel room,” I told him. I had to call TaShay to see if she and her friend Tan had made it back to San Diego safely. They should have been home by then.

“Okay, back to the Westin we go,” Billy commented.

When I retrieved my phone from the room, I found that I had fourteen messages, but half of them were repeat calls.

“That’s why I don’t keep this damn phone on me,” I hissed. If I answered every phone call, I would rarely have any peace.