“It’s all about how males are raised,” said Bernadette.

“We can only be domesticated to a point, right, Richard?” said Masterman, throwing an arm around the taller man. Garcia gave him the eye, and the director took his arm away. “At our core we’re all feral. As Plato put it so eloquently: ‘Of all the animals, the boy is the most unmanageable.’” He nodded toward the tank. “This is an attempt to placate the savage.”

“By this, you mean the water films,” said Garcia.

“This can be anything,” Masterman said. “I don’t care what this is. I don’t give a damn what turns their crank or why, as long as I can get them to open their wallets and plunk down their dollar bills.”

Garcia said, “So if next month the latest fetish involves slathering big toes with chocolate syrup—”

“I’m slathering big toes with chocolate syrup. Pass the nuts and whipped cream.” Masterman shrugged. “It’s not my fault popular tastes have declined. ‘The people that had once bestowed commands, consulships, legions and all else, now longs eagerly for just two things: bread and circus games.’ I’m the circus.”

The philosopher-pornographer and his people weren’t dedicated practitioners. For them, the drowning films were less about satisfying their personal libidos and more about meeting current market demands. Bernadette realized she’d get no leads for the case through Visceral Motion Pictures, but she’d gained some insight. “I think we’ve seen enough of your operation.”

The talent dipped her fingers into the tank and whined. “Skippy, the water’s getting cold.”

“It’s fine, Tiff!” he yelled.

“I’m gonna freeze my ass again.” Tiff flicked her cigarette butt onto the floor and stepped on it.

For the first time Bernadette took note of the sagging sweat socks and worn house slippers on the star’s feet. The tank sat in front of a fake wall slapped with beige paint. Bordering each side of the tank were plastic palm trees identical to the ones Bernadette had seen out in the lobby. Otherwise the set was bereft of furnishings. Suddenly the whole production seemed depressingly low-rent and tired, and she wanted to get out of there fast. “We’ll let you get back to work. I’m sure every minute you spend talking to us is costing you money.”

“Since you’re already here, stay and observe,” Masterman said cheerily.

She checked her watch. “I don’t know.”

“This is a key scene,” he said. “It summarizes the entire movie.”

“We can stay,” Garcia said quickly.

Bernadette gave Garcia the eye and asked, “Where do you want us to stand?”

The director put a paw on her back and guided her to the director’s chair, positioned a few yards from the tank. He seemed to have forgotten about Mr. Ricardo. “Front-row seat for you.”

She was close enough to get wet if the water play got out of hand. Lowering herself into the chair, she clutched her coat in front of her. “Great.”

Garcia came up and pointedly inserted himself between Bernadette and Masterman.

“Can we get started?” asked Tiff, kicking off her slippers and bending over to pull off her socks.

“Where’s Doug?” asked Masterman, stepping up to the tank.

A tall, ripped man pushed through the jungle of plastic palms and stood next to the leading lady. Sporting a black ponytail, tight jeans, and a yellow rain slicker pulled over a bare chest, the guy looked like the Chippendale version of a lobsterman. “Ready to rumble,” he announced, slapping his flat gut.

“Then let’s get rolling,” said Masterman. He turned around and addressed the crew. “We have to do this in one take, so get it right.”

The director went over to Bernadette, saw Garcia planted on one side of her chair, and took the opposite side. Tiff dropped her robe and handed it to Clipboard Guy. Mirror Lady passed Tiff the tiara and held the mirror up so the nude actress could position the crown on her head.

Masterman leaned against the arm of Bernadette’s chair and brought his mouth close to her ear. “Tiff’s an outcast mermaid princess stripped of her fins and banished to a life on dry land. Doug is trying to restore her to her throne.”

“Why was she banished?” Bernadette asked, leaning away from him.

“She banged Doug,” said Masterman, grinning lasciviously.

Garcia, while scrutinizing the director’s closeness to Bernadette asked, “So what?”

Masterman, still smiling at Bernadette, said, “Doug’s a fisherman with a big … rod.”

While the young woman held her arms out for Clipboard Guy, he wrapped her wrists together with clothesline rope. “Why is that necessary?” asked Bernadette.

“It’s part of the plot,” said Masterman. “Plus we want to also be able to market to the bondage crowd.”

She watched while Clipboard Guy moved down to the woman’s ankles and started binding them together. “This seems dangerous,” said Bernadette.

“Tiff can handle it,” Masterman said.

“Have you ever had any close calls?” asked Garcia, frowning at the scene. “Any near drownings?”

“Never,” Masterman said.

Clipboard Guy stood up and exchanged words with Tiff. Then both of them laughed, and Clipboard Guy stepped away.

Masterman took his arm off Bernadette’s chair and yelled toward the couple, “Action!”

A fat cameraman closed in, and Tiff and Doug launched into the perfunctory dialogue.

Tiff, looking up at Doug with her bound hands on his chest: “I’m afraid. What if it doesn’t work?”

Doug, pulling Tiff close by her shoulders: “Then we were meant to be together.”

Tiff leaned her head back as Doug kissed her, and the crown fell to the floor with a clatter. The fisherman swept the princess off her feet and went around to the back of the aquarium. He held the nude woman over the water. “Are you ready?”

“This could be goodbye forever,” she said breathlessly.

“I’ll never forget you,” he said, and set her down into the water.

The cameraman moved in closer while Doug held Tiff beneath the surface by the shoulders. Craning her neck to look around the cameraman, Bernadette could see the young woman squirm and twist, her long hair swirling around her head and face. Bubbles escaped from her nose and mouth. She kicked at the end of the tank with her bound feet and sent waves splashing over the sides. Doug adjusted his grip, his hands moving from her shoulders to her breasts.

Bernadette jumped out of her chair and started for the tank. “She’s in trouble.”

Masterman snagged her by the elbow. “Tiff’s fine.”

Garcia started to move toward the tank. “He’s drowning her.”

Before Garcia could take another step, Tiff sat up in the aquarium, shivering and panting. “I’m done. This water is f-freezing.”

The cameraman looked over at his director and gave the thumbs-up sign. “I got it.”

“Good,” said Masterman. He bent over and retrieved Bernadette’s trench coat from the floor.

Garcia snatched the coat from his hands. “I hope we didn’t ruin your shot.”

Masterman smiled. “No. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” said Bernadette. “What if you’re doing actual harm with this violent stuff?”

“I’m not,” he said confidently. “It’s harmless entertainment.”

“Don’t you ever doubt yourself and your profession?” asked Garcia.

“Don’t you doubt yours at times?” Masterman shot back.

If only he knew their true profession, thought Bernadette. “I’m certain what we do doesn’t injure innocent people.”

“As Voltaire penned in his letter to Frederick the Great: ‘Doubt is not a pleasant condition, but certainty is an absurd one.’”

“Thank you for your time,” said Garcia, helping Bernadette on with her trench coat.

Masterman said, “Sounds like you’re not going to be sending us any checks.”

“Your subject matter seems over the top even for an adult video,” Garcia said.

“It’s too risky for our group,” added Bernadette. “Maybe if you returned to more conventional fare.”