“You’re what?!” I put down my wine and switch the phone to the other ear.

    On the other end of the line, somewhere in Brazil, I hear Murray cough and repeat himself.

    “I’m making a movie.”

    I rub my eyes. I already know the answer to my next question, but I still find myself compelled to ask it anyway.

    “What kind of movie?”

    “Adult,” comes the slightly meek reply.

    I place my free hand over my face, “I knew it. Please, for the sake of our friendship, tell me you’re gainfully employed somewhere behind the scenes. Lighting, boom operator, towel folder…anything.”

    A degree of pride seeps into Murray’s voice and I swear I can hear him jangling change in his trousers, “I’ve actually got myself a modest – but pivotal – role in the picture.”

    “Modest?” I say, “There’s nothing modest about you.”

    “Modest,” says Murray, ” but pivotal.”

    I sit back on the sofa, “So you’ve become a porn star then?”

    “Why not?” asks Murray.

    “Do you have any previous experience?”

    “Hey! I’ve been around the block, my friend!”

    “Oh, yeh,” I say, “I forgot about your little list. So what’s the story? I’m assuming there is some kind of set up to this.”

    “Yeeesssss,” says Murray tiresomely. “It’s actually a re-imagining of the Rock Hudson/James Dean film Giant. You know the one where James Dean discovers an oil well and Hudson gets pissed off?”

    “I remember.” I sigh, “If this is a ‘re-imagining’, does that mean it’s being directed by Tim Burton?”

    “No,” scoffs Murray, “that’s just stupid. Anyway, in this version, the James Dean character discovers a semen well.”

     “Good grief,” I say. “So what’s the film called?”

     “Rude Oil.”

     “I hope you know I’m sitting here shaking my head in despair.”

     “I think you’re just jealous.”

     “No, I’m not.” (Not even slightly). “So, what does Bootie make of all this?”

     “What does she make of all this?” Murray laughs, “She’s my agent. She got me this gig!”

     “How thoughtful,” I say. “This must be love. So when do you start filming?”

     “Tomorrow morning,” he says, inhaling heavily. I’m sure I can detect a trace of dread there. I hope so.

     “Okay,” I sigh, ” well, I’d better let you go so you can learn your lines.”

     “Hey! Maybe when it’s all finished and released we can have a special premier with all our friends one night!”

     “I’m banking on all our friends being otherwise engaged that night.”

     “What do you mean?”

     “If you invite your friends to watch a film of you fucking for money they will no longer be your friends. They will just be people who point at you in the street and make cruel remarks about you at subsequent dinner parties.”

     “You think so?”

     “I know so.”

     “You wouldn’t happen to be one of those people would you?”

     “No, I don’t go to dinner parties.”

     “Hmmm,” says Murray, “interesting…Anyway, I’m not fucking for money. I’m on a kind of apprenticeship.”

     “Can you still claim Jobseeker’s Allowance?”

     ”Ho Ho Ho…Listen, I have to go. Bootie wants to talk me through a few positions.”

     “Give her my love,” I say cheerily and hang up.

     I sit there for a few moments. I was going to go to bed but now I have this horrible, involuntary image of Murray’s backside writhing awkwardly between a pair of Latino legs.

     The excuses I find to get drunk.