The room was thick with anticipation, a heady mix of designer perfume and nervous energy. I was there to listen to David P. a new speaker on the motivational scene. I slipped into a plush velvet chair. Beside me, a young woman, her skin the colour of sun-warmed sand, shifted in her jeans, her floral top, vibrant red and white colours. My eyes, drawn to the plunging neckline, lingered a moment too long, and she smiled, a flash of white teeth against the vibrant lipstick, the scent of her perfume suddenly more potent, a heady blend of jasmine and something… spicier.
The stage lights, a harsh glare against the velvet drapes, illuminated David P. as he strode onto the stage, the thumping beat of “Eye of the Tiger” pulsing through the room. The crowd roared, a collective animal sound, and David, a whirlwind of energy, grinned, sweat already beading on his brow. His voice, amplified by the speakers, boomed, a deep baritone that vibrated in my chest. “Life,” he declared, his voice dripping with certainty, “deals us cards. And we must play them, with grace and gratitude.” The air grew thick with the scent of his own nervous energy. After finishing his speech, he pointed a finger at a man in the front row, his eyes gleaming with an almost predatory intensity. “You, sir,” he barked, “what do you do?” The man, a beefy accountant, stammered a reply, “I am an accountant,” his voice a meek counterpoint to David’s booming pronouncements. “Excellent!” David boomed, “Embrace it! Be the best accountant you can be!”
Then his eyes landed on the woman beside me. She stood, her eyes wide, a flicker of fear in their depths. “Hello,” she said, her voice trembling slightly, “I am Doreen. I… I am a sex worker and also perform in porno films.” A hush fell over the room. David sputtered, his face the colour of a bruised plum. “Life… put you… there?” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. Doreen, her voice now steady, a defiant edge to it, retorted, “Yes, David. Just like you said. Life put me here.” The air crackled with tension, the scent of sweat now mingling with the fear. David, his composure shattered, crossed his arms over his chest, his body language rigid, the vibrant energy that had filled the room moments ago now replaced by a palpable sense of dread. He mumbled an apology, ” I.. I am so sorry to hear that.” A deafening silence settled over the room.
“Tell me to be the best I can be! You told everyone else!” Doreen said, her voice rising.
David, his face contorted in a grotesque mask of fear, sputtered, “I… I can’t.”
Doreen’s voice, now a raw, wounded cry, filled the room. “Why not, David? I most probably make more money than you or anybody in this room! I’m… I’m good at what I do! Sure,I get roughed up sexually, but this is my life, David, the cards I was dealt by having a drug addict father and a prostitute mother! And you… you’re supposed to be the expert! So go on, TELL me David.”
David, his voice a panicked whisper, turned to his assistant. “Get me out of here!” he hissed, the scent of his fear now overpowering everything else. He fled the stage, the thumping beat of “Eye of the Tiger” now a mocking counterpoint to the stunned silence that followed. Doreen, her shoulders shaking from crying, sank back into her chair, the scent of her perfume now tainted with the bitter tang of tears. The silence that followed, broken only by the soft sobs of the woman beside her, was deafening. The incident left an indelible mark on me. The taste of bitter disappointment, the lingering echo of Doreen’s raw, wounded voice – all these sensations combined to create an ingrained understanding of the limitations of simplistic philosophies, the dangers of easy answers, and the enduring power of the human spirit to defy unrealistic expectations and forge its own path, no matter what ‘cards life may deal.’
What happened to David P? Life happened. I think.
David and the Porn Star © 2025 Marcus van Wyk
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