We have few porn kings living among us, much to the chagrin of just about no one. New York may be in the middle of a Hollywood moment, but when it comes to the X-rated-movie business, the city will never rival the Valley. “This place is the most difficult,” he adds, pointing to an orange patch on his forearm. “And whatever you do, if it involves cameras, you cannot allow yourself to fry. “You’re in show business whether you are an actor or an anchor doing news or fucking.” Then he crosses the street to seek refuge in the shade-though thoroughly bronzed, he has a vampiric aversion to the sun to match his Count Chocula voice. “Porn is show business,” Lucas says in his strong Russian accent.
His gait and all-around grooviness recall Travolta in the opening scene of Saturday Night Fever. Three buttons of his fitted lime-green shirt are undone, revealing a Star of David necklace resting in a patch of chest hair.
Enormous Prada sunglasses shield his eyes. Michael Lucas stalks up Eighth Avenue like a jungle cat on a fashion runway.
