Agree but you'll need a disguise

After Hours Video, back storage room, at 3:05 PM on Monday, May 13th, 2024

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. The words feel like they're being pulled out of you against your will, but you push forward anyway because refusing feels impossible—it always does.

"Okay," you say quietly, and you watch something like relief flicker across Jordan's face. "Okay, I'll... I'll do it. But—" You hold up a hand, trying to inject some firmness into your voice. "But we get a wig. And a mask, maybe. Something to cover my face. I can't just... I can't let people recognize me. I need some kind of disguise."

Jordan's expression shifts, the satisfaction draining slightly. They lean back against the shelving unit, considering this. For a moment they don't speak, just studying you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle.

"A disguise," Jordan repeats, as if testing the word. "Like what, exactly?"

"A wig," you say, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact even though every instinct screams at you to look away. "Dark hair, maybe. Something different from my actual color. And a mask—like a Venetian mask or something. Just something that covers enough so nobody can identify me from my face. People watch porn to see bodies, right? They don't need to see my actual face."

Jordan starts pacing again, their mind visibly working through the logistics. After a few circuits around the small storage room, they turn back to face you, and their expression has settled into something more businesslike.

"Okay, so here's the thing," Jordan says. "I'm not exactly flush with cash. I spent most of my spending money on that new monitor for my gaming setup last month, and Dad keeps me on a pretty tight leash with the store funds—everything's accounted for. So if we're buying wigs and masks, that's coming out of pocket money we don't actually have."

Your heart sinks. You were hoping Jordan would just absorb the cost, but of course they wouldn't. Why would they?

"Unless," Jordan continues, holding up a finger, "you want to fund it yourself. Which, I get it, you're broke too. So alternatively, we could just do it without the disguise. You're not exactly famous, Daisy. Most of the guys who come in here won't recognize you from the videos anyway—they're not super common knowledge outside of certain circles. You could just... do it. No one needs to know."

Jordan moves closer to you, and their voice drops into something almost conspiratorial. "Or, third option—and hear me out—we could make it part of the appeal. 'Real local girl' type content. We could use your name or a version of it. Some guys are really into that authenticity factor. Could actually sell better."

You feel the ground shifting beneath you, the compromise you thought you'd negotiated already being dismantled. Jordan is laying out options, but each one somehow feels worse than the last—or they all feel like versions of the same thing with different wrapping.

"I could try to help scrape together some money for the wig," Jordan adds, almost as an afterthought. "But we'd be cutting it close with the timeline, and honestly, Daisy, I don't think it matters as much as you think it does. But if it makes you feel better about doing this, we can figure something out. Just... understand that every dollar we spend on costumes and props is a dollar we're not actually producing content with."

Jordan pulls out their phone and starts scrolling. "Tell you what—there's a Party City down the street. They've got masks and wigs. Nothing fancy, but functional. Probably run us what, thirty, forty bucks total? You could probably grab it right now if you wanted. I could front you the money from the till, and we could knock out the first shoot tonight if you're up for it. The sooner we start, the sooner this is all over."

They look up from their phone, meeting your eyes directly. "What do you want to do?"

The question hangs in the recycled air of the storage room, fluorescent lights casting everything in their usual sickly glow. You realize you're holding your breath.