by Shayne Ford
I send the picture from his phone to mine.
“Oh, you didn’t get it?” James, one of the sound engineers, says, poking fun at me.
“No, I didn’t. I wasn’t in it, so I didn’t get it.”
I grin mischievously, and the control room fills with laughter. Even Steve cracks a smile. I wink at them, crop the image, and save it on my phone.
I can’t wait to get to Ron’s house. It’s a nice change of scenery and a long drive, and I love both. I hit the gym on Friday morning, and as I walk back to my suite, little do I know what a surprise is waiting for me at the door.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my eyebrows shooting up.
Smiling, Lana envelopes me in a seductive gaze and keeps her mouth shut. I give her an unabashed once-over as she almost breaks her back pushing her ass out.
She wears low rise jeans and a top that ends before it begins, leaving nothing to the imagination. She left her bra at home, her puckered nipples pointing straight at me.
This shit never gets old.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” I ask as I swipe my key card.
Chewing on her lip, she gives me a smoldering look.
“Busy chasing balls, huh? Oh, wait... that’s you,” I say caustically, as I push inside.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she says, precious, as if her word means anything to me.
“Whatever...” I hurl at her and walk into the room.
Rushed, she sneaks behind me as if she knows I’m seriously considering throwing her out. I toss my phone and the gym bag on the bed before I pull my wet T-shirt off.
She runs her eyes on me, following my moves as if I’m a waving Cobra.
“So what’s the problem with him? Not a good lay?” I sneer and turn to her just in time to catch her expression.
Batting her lashes, she presses her lips together, unable to stifle her surprise.
I’m fucking right.
Her teeth clench, suppressing a retort. I shake my head, grinning. She’d like to give me a piece of her mind, but the need to get what she wants is stronger than her ego, so she lets it go, at least for now.
“Tsk, tsk. You can never tell, right?“ I say, messing with her.
Stretching a knowing smile, I saunter to the bathroom. Her head gyrates after me. I stop and ponder for a moment before I cut my eyes at her.
“Listen... You should go home,” I say, serious.
She doesn’t flinch.
A mix of humbleness and something I coin as lust, fills her eyes. Her gaze slips to my bare chest and down to my groin.
She’s staring so hard at the outline of my dick, my pants could fly off me through sheer telekinesis.
Running my hand through my hair, I ponder some more. The better part of my brain tells me to push her out of the door. But then again, I need to start sometime with someone, so it might just be her.
“Give me a minute...”
Before I can finish my sentence, her top hits the floor, and her jeans fall to the ground. She glues to me, her hands carving my ass out of my pants.
“I guess I’ll leave the shower for later...”
She gets me hard, and that’s about it before I take over, push her against the wall, and pull a condom on. She clenches the second I enter her which makes me wonder if I’m that special or she’s at the end of a two-week drought. She moans and grinds, and climaxes, and I’m about to explode, but I can’t come.
It fucking sucks.
She wants more, and she’s happy to get it, but the more I pound into her, the worse I feel, so I shut my eyes and employ the dirtiest trick in the book.
Plastering Thalia’s image all over her, I trick my brain, and surprisingly, it works, exceeding Lana’s expectations by a mile and getting me some relief.
Before she could figure out what hit her, I sneak into the bathroom and close the door behind me. Fuck. I might need to ask for a different room or not, but stop fucking here.
I dawdle in the shower for a good half hour, hoping she has somewhere else to go and lets herself out.
No such luck.
As I walk back into the room, something strikes me as terribly wrong. Hunched over her phone, she sits at the table, her eyes congested from crying.
What the hell?
Was I... that good? Or that bad?
I proceed with caution.
“What happened?”
She wipes her tears with the back of her hand, smudging her makeup all over her face. That’s never a good sign, especially in a case of a Goddess like her. Then... Oh, shit. She’s also completely dressed up, and that’s another ominous sign.
Silent, she sits at the table and stares at her phone.
Has anyone died?
I lose my patience, and with it goes my tact.
“Well, if you don’t mind... I need to be somewhere. Can you please go?”
“I will,” she growls through gritted teeth.
I give her a sidelong glance. What the fuck was that? Her eyes stay glued to the phone screen.
“I will go,” she says, her voice under control this time. “But before I go, I’m dying to know... Why can’t we be together?”
Oh, no. I’m not getting into that shit. Not now.
As I turn my back to her, looking for my phone, it dawns on me she would’ve never, ever asked me this, had she not felt all the other options have been exhausted.
“Are you looking for this? Is this where you need to be?”
I have a feeling I know the answer to her question. I turn and duck just in time before I catch a bruise and need to wear makeup at the photo shooting.
The phone lands on my bed, Layla’s picture on display. Anger shoots through my veins.
I snatch my phone and turn to her.
“What the fuck are you doing with my phone?” I shout.
“What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck are you doing, asshole? I’m only good for fucking, aren’t I?”
Well, she might be right, but this is not the time to come clean. She leaps up to her feet, clasps her hands on her hips and screams at the top of her lungs.
I can’t imagine she throws this fit on the spur of the moment. It looks like bottled up shit she’s finally venting.
Still, I don’t understand what her problem is. It’s a picture of a woman I’ve never even talked to. It means nothing. It’s not as if I fucked her.
“Calm down...”
I try to reason with her. I just remembered everybody’s gone, either on Long Island, or on a break, so I have to handle her with maximum discretion. I can’t have her scream her way out of the hotel.
Of course, I can tell her the truth, that she’s just one in a long line of loose relationships, the key word being ’loose’, but it will not help my cause, so I decide to create a diversion and shift her focus away from Layla. But first, I need to butter her up.
“I don’t understand. Why are you so upset?”
My voice rolls soft and melodious as if I speak to a fussy toddler. I join her at the table, not a trace of aggression or anger in my demeanor.
I sit, and she follows my example. Hands on the table, I flip the phone up and slide it to her.
“This is nobody.”
I’m sincere. Still, her eyes fill with tears.
“She is one of the photographers we work with. This picture was taken at our last photo session. You can ask Ron.”
“Why do you have a picture of her on your phone? You have no other pictures, not even of your family.”
I wish I knew the answer to her question.
She sobs, and honestly I can’t see why it bothers her so much, but I’m dancing with her.
“It was a stupid joke.”
I give her the backstory, and tell her the truth. She eventually calms down. Or at least, she can no longer hold it against me without looking like a nutcase.
I place the phone on the table, face down, and then I press my hand on hers, warm and soothing and caring as if I follow a step by step guide
on how to handle an angry woman without getting punched in the eye.
“This is not about this woman’s picture,” I try a crass manipulation, and I mentally cross my fingers.
She searches my eyes, but I don’t flinch. The wrathful woman’s voice melts into a soft whimpering.
“I like you, River,” she says, her voice broken.
“I know you do. I like you, too.”
I cringe inwardly. This is only half true, but same goes for her. She doesn’t like the real me. She likes the image of me and everything else she has projected on me.
Next, I play the sincerity card. It never fails, and if I play it right, I may stir some compassion in her.
“Listen, I’m not good for you, and the truth is, I'm worse now than I was before.”
“What do you mean? What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m just fucked up. And just so you know, I haven’t had relationships before you for the same reason. I can’t have anyone tied up to me if I’m not able to commit myself one hundred percent. Nobody deserves that. Right?”
I wait for her to agree and she nods. It’s a no-brainer after all. Seemingly, I’m getting closer to a resolution.
“That’s why I think you’re better off without me and it’s not because I don’t like you. Makes sense?”
She nods again.
“Okay. That’s good,” I say and check that off my list.
“So, can we at least...You know...” she murmurs, looking at me, her eyes filled with hope.
Yeah, that’s another shackle I need to remove, but I’m out of ideas on how to end a streak of casual fucking. Instead, I play a smile that she can interpret any way she wants.
It looks like I can’t end everything here, today, but for now, I accomplished what I wanted. I turn my phone over, glance at the screen and check the time.
“There’s a studio session I need to go to. I’ll give you a ride if you wait a moment. I need to get my stuff together. “
“Sure. No problem,” she says, purring like a kitten.
Why do I have a feeling this will come back and bite me in the ass? A half hour later, we exit the hotel like two adults.
Another twenty minutes, and I deposit her to her mom’s place. It’s the first time I give her a ride and the last.
8
After a few hours of scenic driving, my eyes fill with the panoramic view of the ocean and the glossy blue sky of late fall.
Soon, I reach a quiet area with graveled roads, manicured landscapes, and beautiful properties.
Overlooking the water, Ron’s house encompasses everything I love. Serenity, warmth, great views and enough nature to enjoy solitude. The bay sparkles in the sun, the scent of the ocean wafting through the air.
I’m early.
As I pull into the driveway, I notice Steve’s car, parked at the side, and also Ron’s ride. James, the recording engineer, is not here, nor is the scared pup who’s supposed to take my pictures.
I get my stuff settled in my room, and join Ron downstairs.
The studio sprawls on the first level, a glass wall letting in the view of the ocean stretching in the distance. Moored at the dock, Ron’s sailing yacht sways in the breeze. Clusters of trees line a riding trail leading to the beach.
One of the French doors is wide open, ushering in a waterfall of light, and the sound of lapping waves and screaming seagulls.
A bar, a small kitchen, two bathrooms, and the room we lounge in, right now, are attached to the studio. At night, this is the perfect place to hang out. The stripper pole, tucked in the corner is just one of the incriminating pieces of evidence.
Standing next to the open door, I take a long breath.
“It doesn’t feel like November,” I say, peering outside.
“No, it doesn’t. Do you want a drink?”
“Water is fine.”
Ron walks to the bar, pours a drink for himself and grabs a bottle of water for me. He hands me the bottle and slides back onto the couch, elegant as ever.
The dark tailored trousers and the buttoned-down shirt set off his lean body. He crosses his legs and runs his hand through his shiny, black hair.
“When do you fly back to LA?” he asks.
“Monday.”
I swing my gaze back to the window.
The silence grows between us. I have a feeling he’d like to question me on something. It’s not as if we’ve known each other since yesterday. He’s good at reading people, but I’m no rookie either. Plus, I have a natural gift to figure out shit before people care to spell it out for me.
“How are things with you?” he asks.
There he goes. I think I know what the problem is. He wants to make sure I’m not losing my shit.
Once in a while, he gets nervous, and I can’t blame him. It’s all connected to the bottom line. If I flop, everything does. If I go crazy, the whole thing crumbles.
I know how damaging it can be. I’ve been in business. I know how stuff works. Like him, I hate when something slips out of control.
“Things are fine,” I mutter.
There’s a long pause before he speaks again.
“How are things with Thalia?”
My lips curve into a slow smile.
He’s daring. I’ll give him that. He knows how much I hate when people stick their nose in my business. Seemingly, he can’t help himself.
Holding his gaze, I erase the space between us and sink into a chair.
“If you ask about work, she’s doing fine. There’s nothing else going on with Thalia,” I say, observing him over the rim of my bottle.
As much as I want to sound calm, anger threads through my voice.
He holds a hand up.
“Listen, I don’t care... it’s just that...”
“I know... I got it... Nothing is going on,” I snap, and then I take a deep breath.
The smartest thing to do would be to make the topic go away. I don’t want him agitated and on my back, so I’ll have to give him something, a glimpse of my old self if nothing else.
I set the bottle on the table, clasp my fingers behind my head, lean back against the chair and flash a wolfish smile.
“Let’s say she’s done a lot of overtime this past weekend,” I say.
Unhurriedly, he lights up a cigarette, takes a long draw, and keeping his eyes on me, lets out a long, white stream of smoke.
His lips tilt with a sly grin.
“Really?”
“Yeah... really.”
“Doesn’t she like girls...?”
“Yeah, she does.”
Crushing his bottom lip under his teeth, he shakes his head.
“Hmm... So, you’ve talked her into the cock business.”
“Hardly. You’d be surprised,” I say, trying to sound amused.
“Interesting. Was she good?”
“We spent a whole weekend in my bed. Yeah, I’d say she was good.”
He purses his lips and sways his head side to side, the tension between us slowly subsiding.
A moment of silence slips by.
“Listen... There’s something else I want to talk about...” he says and pauses briefly. “I invited Nora to the club, Sunday night.”
Okay. I’m not sure where he goes with this. Why would I need to know that? It’s not like we keep tabs on each other’s tail business.
At least, most of the time we don’t.
“And?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow.
“Layla will come, too.”
Now, that’s more information than I need. I still don’t understand why is this any of my business.
“Okay?”
“By then, Alma will be gone,” he whispers, his expression shifting, suggesting that the woman in question is somewhere in the house.
I examine him for a few moments before I break into laughter.
After spending half of my morning playing a shrink, I feel his pain. I don’t even know what amuses me the most. The fear in his eyes, the relief on his face or my ow
n thespian performance this morning.
I understand his predicament. After all, Alma is Anna’s niece, and Anna is his housekeeper. The woman has been working for him for the last twenty years or so.
Would’ve been so much easier had he not slipped in Alma’s pants. I’m sure it was a good idea at the time. Aren’t they all?
Seeing him fussing like a teenager tops it all.
He looks at me, tentatively smiling, unsure why I find it so entertaining.
“Why is this my business?” I ask.
“Well... I need to make a few calls, and I need you to take her for a ride, and keep her busy.”
He points at the ceiling, and I’m tempted to ask what does he mean by ‘a ride’, but I’m not sure he’s in the mood for my jokes.
I can’t believe he’s such a pussy, but then again, I remember my own problems, so I stop judging and keep my mouth shut.
“All right. I’ll ride her... Sorry... I’ll take her horse riding,” I say, smirking, and he lets out a small laughter.
Hey, at least he sees the humor in this.
For some reason, this conversation puts things in a different perspective. As it turns out, everything sucks in the end. Ron is a living example, and I’m the exhibit number two. No matter what we do, we all get screwed.
Order succumbs to chaos, every minute of every fucking day, and everything turns to dust eventually. So we may just enjoy the moment before it fades away and turns into a distant memory or regret.
As I absorb this morsel of wisdom, my mouth pulls open, voicing unfiltered thoughts.
“So... why exactly did you mention Layla?”
His lips curve into a slow, knowing smile, and it dawns on me, I just fell into his trap.
“I thought you might want to know,” he says.
“Why would I want to know?”
He ashes his cigarette, his gaze slipping to his fingers.
“She likes you.”
“She’s not the only one who likes me. It’s part of the entertainment business, isn’t it?”
He ignores my sarcasm and plows along.
“I know, but she’s different...”
He pauses to take another drag, and my pulse speeds up.
”She’s a rare kind of a woman...” he says.