Saying Goodbye

Abby held Oliver's hand for the last few hours, hoping each breath would not be his last but expecting the end at any moment. Forty-six years together didn't seem long enough — yet it was a lifetime. Two life times — their adult children waited in the hospital cafeteria. "I wish we had a camera to film this." She told him, knowing he was beyond hearing. "So much of our intimate life is on film, it seems natural."

They had meet on the set — Oliver playing a Klansman, Abby playing an escaped slave. Each scene had been more vile and degrading than the last. Rape, beating, humiliation. Then, during the lunch break, Oliver had come over to the colored side and spoke in that deep, soft voice of his.

"I'm not like that, Miss." He said. "If I had known what the role was, I wouldn't have taken it, but y'know ... the contract and all." He held his hat in his hand. She had nodded but even for a movie role, it was hard to be treated like that. Especially when reality wasn't much better.

After lunch was better. She was an African Queen seduced by an American Explorer. Mid-way thru the taping, she realized that he was really trying to seduce her, trying to make up for how his character — how he — had treated her that morning. Much to her surprise, she didn't have to fake all of her orgasms.

They found themselves being paired for interracial porn movies and photos more often. The black woman / white man taboo was in vogue and they had good chemistry on screen. After a few late night coffees, they began having chemistry off screen too. They began seeing each other more often and more seriously. Eventually, they moved in together. Marriage was out of the question; it may not have been illegal but it still wasn't acceptable. But, in exchange, they had each other day and night and made good money doing it. When Oliver got the chance, he moved behind the camera and began letting Abby have some say in the 'scripts'. "You're gonna get had, Ab, just tell me how they're gonna have you." And had she was — front-ways, back-ways, mouth done, tits done, knees done for a fetish film once. She was dressed in offices and undressed in fields. Black men, white men, women too. Oliver always did her after, saying that watching her made him too randy to wait. No matter how many dicks were in her on the set, Oliver's was always the last one for the day. And usually the first one in the morning.

They made 1,246 films together, as performers, directors, producers or a combination. They made enough to buy a house large house together, raise two children out of wedlock (not that anyone knew they weren't married — they'd been together so long, they were long past common law in all fifty states) and send them both to college. The children never knew where the money came from — they knew Mom and Dad had worked in the 'film industry' but not where or how.

They retired when they became grandparents and traveled. In the Congo — where he first allegedly seduced her in their second video — he caught a virus. It never left him. His strength slowly left him, year by year, til now; she waited for that final sound taking her lover away from her forever.

She could still remember the sound of his moans when she touched him in just the right way. His look of surprise each time he discovered something she did for personal pleasure and not just while tape was rolling. The feeling of his fingers, lips, and tongue caressing her. At a healthy 62, she wasn't looking forward to living without such things.

Oliver breathed in. He didn't breath out. She didn't let his hand go until the nurses pried it from her.