by Andrea Wolfe
They stood up together and shared a brief hug before Jack turned and introduced us. "Stacy, this is Effie. Effie, this is Stacy."
Dammit, Jack, I thought. Of course I already know who she is!
"Effie, it's cool to meet you." I took her hand and shook it, over-thinking the gesture and worrying that I had shaken her hand either too firmly or not firmly enough. They had talked about handshakes so much in my high school career courses that I had grown deathly afraid of them most of the time.
"Stacy, hi," I said awkwardly, desperately trying to sound cool and composed. When I realized this wasn't just a chance encounter and Jack was the one that made it happen, my guard fell. It all happened so fast. "You're actually my favorite actor," I admitted nervously. "I didn't know this was going to happen at all."
"Thanks, Effie," she said sincerely. My heart fluttered a little.
The thing was, although things were going incredibly with Jack, there was just one, glaring problem with everything—I'd get used to being on earth with him, and then he'd do some outlandish, dazzling thing like this and make me forget everything. I didn't even know how to respond. Stacy was just a normal person, and I knew I needed to treat her like that—but I wasn't kidding at all when I said she was my favorite actor.
I had spent years watching her on screen, loving her characters and her artistic, driven approach to filmmaking. She had gone beyond acting and had even directing credits to her name before turning thirty. In many ways, she was very similar to Jack. They had broken up, and maybe that was the reason why. Could two people that intense co-exist without problems, without constant antagonism?
Aside from our first date, I had never really mentioned her to Jack again. His memory was almost inhumanly good. Now I was really wishing that I had asked him for more information up front.
"What do you do, Effie? How'd you meet Jack?"
I cleared my throat and took a sip of that very rich drink. "I work at MCI Music Group in New York. Just accounting stuff. Nothing special."
"I came in for a meeting," Jack said, "and I couldn't take my eyes off of her. She almost made me sign with them right then and there."
"Shut up, Jack," Stacy said playfully. "Unless the deal was perfect, you'd never just sign with anyone."
"Yeah, you're right." He gave her a wry smile, an admission of defeat.
Oh, yeah, the deal. I had forgotten about it, but this was not the time or place to start remembering. The alcohol came to my rescue almost instantaneously, smoothing my troubles away and bringing me back to the very pressing matter at hand.
"Well, whatever. I don't really know these things," I said honestly.
"No, no. That's cool, Effie. I was actually an accounting major before I dropped out to go to acting school." She smiled and took a sip of what looked like a dry martini, apparently digging into her memories.
"Really? I didn't know that."
"Yeah, I don't think I was cut out for it." She was being so humble and honest, not something I was used to. Stacy was always great and down-to-earth in her interviews, but this was another level of humility. I mean, give her a script and the resources and she's literally unstoppable.
It was as if I wanted her to be so far above me since that's what my phony assumption was. There was something so surreal about having a basic conversation with a person who, without these very unique circumstances, wouldn't have ever been accessible to you. Like a book on the very top shelf—when there's no ladder to get up there.
"I'm going to run to the bathroom, okay? You two ladies keep this conversation rolling." Jack's constant smile had changed the tone of his voice. I didn't know what to expect while he was gone, but I would just have to roll with it and do my best.
"How do you like L.A.?" she asked politely.
"It's really cool so far," I said. "I've never been here before."
"It's a long trip from the East Coast. It's definitely worth it if you have a guide. How do you like Jack?"
The question actually really hit me off guard. I caught myself before I blurted out something stupid. "He's... he's great." A drink had never tasted sweeter—or comforting.
"He sure is," she said. "He's so talented, too. I definitely miss him sometimes, but our break-up was for the best. Near the end, we only saw each other like once a month or less."
"Seriously?" I asked. I hadn't realized they had become so distant. The tabloids only said so much.
"He's busy and so am I." Stacy's look became distant, her eyes casually surveying the crowd. When she was satisfied, she continued. "He goes on tour, and I'm acting in films and location scouting for my next project. When you're doing that and your schedules don't line up, you spend a lot of time alone. It's even harder when you love what you do so much that you can't give it up, even for someone you really care about."
The thought was scary. Could I deal with him being gone all the time like that? I wouldn't ever want to hamper his creative output, not when he had so much to offer the world. It was so weird to be having a conversation about my boyfriend with my favorite actor. How often did that sort of thing ever happen?
Stop, Effie.
Once again, now was not a good time to do this sort of analysis, analysis that would force me to arrive at these ostensible conclusions, given my inability to really know anything. Jack and I could communicate; I knew that already. The facts in our relationship had yet to be established. We could make it work. I knew we could...
"Stace, did Effie tell you some guy was gushing to me about Feedback at Gangadin?" Jack was back—which meant our private discussion had concluded. He slid into the booth beside me and put his arm around my back.
She let out an almost maniacal laugh. "Really? I know how much you love it when people talk about that one."
All I could do was grin and feel slightly out of place. Why had I never looked into his albums? Well, when were together, I just didn't have the time. And when I was alone or on a break, I was doing my best to not think about him. I guess my total incompetence regarding research did fit into my grander scheme, as much as it felt like, well, incompetence. Thankfully, the conversation shifted away quickly.
"Yeah." Jack smiled. "It's probably like when people talk about The Garden with you."
"Shut up! I needed the money at the time. Besides, it was an 'art' film, not smut."
I started laughing. "That movie wasn't bad at all, Stacy." She had done a nude scene in it, one that had polarized some critics—some of the more conservative ones found it to be trashy or distasteful—from what I had read. The movie was an effort by a self-indulgent director, and she was just doing what was asked of her. "I liked it."
"Jack, what did you really think about that? Me doing a nude scene?" She gave him an intense look, one that was strange but acceptable. Actually, thanks to that movie, we had both seen her naked, something unusual for sure.
Slowly but surely making his way toward an empty drink, he sipped and gave a casual pause. "It was right before we met. And so what? You're an actor and some actors do that. You did it for your art, whether the final picture was cheesy or not."
I started to think about what he had told me, about not telling anyone the full story about his traumatic past. I wasn't going to bring it up, either. His relationship with Stacy had been very different from any relationship I had ever been a part of.
"You and that whole big heartbreak thing," she said. "At least you got some albums out of it."
Jack shared a glance with me, one that seemed to confirm what he had told me in that moment of utter vulnerability. Stacy didn't appear to know the full story, only that he wrote about some girl that was no longer his. His eyes conveyed so much in that fleeting moment, enough honesty and trust to drown me in warmth.
Had their relationship been that superficial? I wasn't sure if superficial was the right word for it or not. Maybe they never really talked about serious things at all.
He insisted that Hollywood couples were different from the rest of us. Yeah, they w
ere regular people, but they also dealing with a whole slew of powerful influences that most of the population would never know or understand. An evening out in an unflattering outfit could spell disaster for the highly sensitive type. Gaining a few extra pounds could put you on the front of a tabloid with some exaggerated headline that could make you contemplate suicide.
What kind of life was that really? Well, it involved a lot of money, at least.
Jack got us another round of drinks—by that time, it was actually the second round he had gotten for everyone—and shortly after he returned, Stacy got up to use the bathroom. As soon as she was out of sight, Jack suddenly kissed me, the intensity peaking as soon as his lips met mine. I kissed him back and ran my hands through his hair ferociously, both because I wanted to and because I was a little drunk.
He withdrew his tongue and nibbled on my lower lip. "Jesus, Effie. I want to fuck your brains out so badly." His whisper felt like a scream as his fingers made an inconspicuous trip along my inner thigh, approaching a spot that would obviously lead to some serious awkwardness if he reached it right now. He stopped right before arriving, deftly completing his tease. What a jerk!
"I really wish you would," I said weakly, my breath a thing I had to battle for.
"Soon," he said, pressing his lips against mine one last time. Just like that, his composure returned, ready for Stacy's return. A subtle wetness had already spilled from me, but thankfully, it wasn't obvious. God, he could get me going so easily...
Every time it happened, I was just as surprised as the time before it.
"Thanks for doing this," I said, trying to divert my attention away from the screaming urges of my body.
"You don't think it's weird? Some people might."
"She'd be my hero if I were actually into acting."
"You could do it, I think. Remember how well you did that that party with all of the uptight, rich assholes?"
"Uptight, rich assholes?" I asked. "Like you? Besides, I want to write, not act."
He raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to pick up this tab, Ms. Amateur Writer?"
"I'm not so sure I could. Plus, your credit card is already with the bartender."
"Okay, you win." He gave his cell phone a casual glance, probably checking the time. I hoped that's what it was, because I couldn't handle any more surprises tonight.
"She's really pretty in person, too. I'm not used to seeing her without make-up." It was tough not to feel inadequate hanging out with basically one of the most beautiful people in the world, as declared by more than one celebrity gossip magazine.
His look was distant at first. "I always liked her better that way." After a few seconds, he honed right in on my eyes. "She doesn't compare to you, though. You're fucking beautiful, Effie. Believe me."
As he spoke those words, my cheeks flushed red and butterflies flooded my stomach. On one hand, I felt that he was full of shit because, after all, this was Stacy Levons we were talking about. But on the other hand, he had no reason to lie to me in such an extreme fashion. "Whatever," I said, trying to deflect what I felt was a very incongruous compliment. "Thanks."
He didn't waver. "You know I mean it. And when we get back to the room, I'm gonna fucking prove it." Only one word describe his expression—hungry. I really don't think he could fake that expression, no matter how hard he tried.
I cleared my throat and tried to calm my frazzled nerves. "Okay," I whispered.
Jack quickly glanced around, his eyes most likely searching for Stacy. "Do you want to get going soon?"
I realized that I was kind of sleepy—and craving other things pretty seriously now as well. Midnight was fast approaching, which meant it was nearly three in the morning in New York. I felt weird letting sexual urges get in the way when I was sitting here with a genuinely talented celebrity I admired, one who already felt like a real friend of mine.
"That seems okay. Will Stacy care?" I couldn't give up without a tiny fight, even if I actually wanted to lose it.
"Probably not."
She returned seconds later, just missing the conclusion of our very-interesting discussion. "Stace, I think we're going to head out soon. Is that all right with you?"
"Yeah. It's hard to stay out late anymore. I'm getting old, I guess." She gave us both a wry smile.
"Just wait until you're my age," Jack said.
"What, next year?" she asked. "Will it really be that much different than now?"
"I guess not." He smiled. "It was really nice to see you."
"Same," she said. "Nice meeting you, Effie."
My whole feeling star struck thing returned, the ugly monster that it was. "Yeah, you're great… to meet." I mumbled, feeling silly.
She seemed to ignore my slip up. "Shoot me an email sometime, if you want. It's just stacy dot levins at gmail dot com."
"It's that simple?" I asked. "Do you ever get unsolicited emails from fans?"
"No one ever guesses it because it's that simple." She put her sunglasses back into place, completing the minimal disguise. "They probably think my email address is at hollywood dot com or something."
I laughed harder than was probably expected of me, but I couldn't help it. "Or bigstar dot com," I added. Stacy laughed and it reminded me of that fact that I was joking around with a person who I had spent hours upon hours watching on my TV and computer screens. I felt so small yet so thankful.
"We can walk you out of here," Jack said.
She nodded graciously. "Oh, shit. I almost forgot. Do you guys want to come to a party tomorrow? It's all industry people and it sounds really boring if I'm going to be there alone. My agent wants me to make an appearance. Semi-formal kind of thing. It's at this guy's super-nice house. Mostly Hollywood people."
"What do you say, Effie?" Jack's expression seemed to imply that he already knew my answer.
I wasn't about to not jump on the possibility of spending more time with Stacy—and it only took me about a second to realize that. "Let's do it."
"Okay, cool," she said, her expression brightening. It appeared that our interest had legitimately improved her mood. "I'll text you the address tomorrow, Jack. It's in Beverly Hills."
"No problem." Jack straightened out his collar before continuing. "I've got to meet a couple of people in the morning and then we're free." Stacy nodded to acknowledge him.
We walked out of that busy bar together, the night just beginning for most of the crowd. The summer air was so warm and smooth, not muggy and humid like I was used to back home. Stacy snuck away toward a car that was parked in the back of lot while Jack attempted to hail us a cab. "I don't like to do the limo thing if we're going to be out late. I give 'em a break sometimes."
"You don't need to justify it," I said. "You don't have to cart me around in a limo all the time. Cars are okay too."
"I feel like I should, though." He gave me a wicked smile. "Plus, we can get away with a lot more in the back of a limo than in a cab."
"Or we can just wait until we get home," I said, hinting that maybe I was a bit too tired for both limo sex and sex in the room.
"Yeah, or that," he said.
***
I almost dozed off in his arms on the way back; the sleepiness ended as soon as we pulled into the hotel. The nightclub was wild. It was hard to tell if the sounds of the nightclub would creep into our room or not.
"Do you want to go in there?" Jack asked pointing tentatively at Teddy's. Even though he knew I was tired, I appreciated that he was giving me the opportunity.
"Not tonight. Unless you're prepared to face indecent exposure charges." I kissed his cheek, lightly running my tongue along his freshly formed stubble. I didn't really want to mess around anymore. I needed him inside me—now. We had a tacit understanding of what needed to happen next.
This whole trip thus far had culminated in these feelings that were really overpowering me. We strolled into the hotel together, desperately prodding at the elevator button to try to get it to close once we were inside. As soon
as it did, Jack's hands were hiking up my skirt and rubbing circles against the most sensitive part of me as he shoved me against the elevator wall.
"God," I moaned, my moans filling the elevator as it starting rising. I had never done anything like this before, and it was thrilling in its own way. He kissed me and stripped away my ability to speak another real word.
I guess this was just his way of proving that he meant what he said...
Was he about to fuck me here? There was nothing I could do to stop him if that was his intent.
I was so dangerously wet already, my panties soaking up the moisture like a sponge. He was nuzzling the tops of my breasts, his chin pulling down my blouse.
Right when I thought it would go one step further, the elevator dinged and the door opened. We both turned around abruptly. Fortunately, the hall was empty.
"C'mon."
He pulled me into the hall and we giddily sprinted to the room, his hand fumbling in his pocket for the room key. After unlocking, the door swung open, revealing our paradise, the place reserved for just us. Our making out continued as we stumbled into the room.
His erection felt fuller and thicker than it ever had, maybe just because I wanted it more than ever. He kept pressing it against me, but I pulled away, creating some space between our bodies, and began fumbling with his belt.
Any hints of sleepiness had thoroughly departed, barely even memories at this point. Reality was now, right here in this room, his body and mine.
His belt loosened, I unbuttoned his pants and slid my hand through the elastic of his boxers, gripping his cock firmly. I could feel pre-cum that had beaded on the tip, pre-cum that I smoothed all over his engorged head with my thumb and then began to lightly stroke.
Honestly, I wanted him inside of me, but this felt like some sort of ritual of its own, something like inverted foreplay. He could have thrown me down on the bed—well, I hoped that was still on the way—and just started fucking me like an animal, with no regard to anything other than that raw activity.