by Karen Grey
“Not if you don’t stop distracting me.” I grab a shirt from the floor, which just happens to be his. When I wriggle into it, his woodsy-lemony scent envelops me. “Okay, what do I do?”
“Let me find a scene I really need to work on.” He takes the book back and flips to a page. “Can you test me?”
There are a lot of little penciled-in notes, including arrows and swoopy lines. “What’s all the writing in the margins about?”
He lies back against the pillows, muscular arms folded behind tousled curls, legs casually crossed. “That’s just stage directions and some notes to myself. You can ignore those.” He truly is an ideal specimen of manhood: muscles not too lean, not too bulky. His abs ridged, but not freakishly cut.
I flip the sheet to cover him. “I can’t focus with you on display like that.”
He sighs. “It’s hard being such a sex god.”
I try to poke him in the side, but he scoots away. I give him a stern look. “Alright, let’s get to work.” I scan the text. “I guess you’re Bertram?”
“Yep, and you read Diana. Ready?” He catches my nod before beginning. “‘They told me that your name was Fontibell.’”
Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to be acting the words, so I don’t even try. “‘No, my good lord, Diana.’”
“‘Titled goddess; And worth it, with addition! But, fair queen—’”
I hold up my hands in a T. “Time out. Are you supposed to say all the words exactly as they are?”
“Yeah. Please stop me if I mess up. What’d I miss?”
“The end of that sentence is supposed to be ‘But, fair soul.’”
“Oh, right. I’ll start again.” He faces forward, talking to some invisible woman across the room.
The next try, he gets it right. It’s a bit of an effort to pay attention to the rest of his speech because just the sound of his voice gets me all hot and makes me want to be bothered by his hands again. Luckily for him, I’m more of a perfectionist than a hedonist.
It’s my turn again. “‘She then was honest.’”
“‘So should you be.’”
“‘No: My mother did but duty; such, my lord, as you owe to your wife.’” A shiver goes through my belly. “Time out again. Yuck. He’s married to somebody else and seducing this lady?”
“Yeah, he’s kind of a jerk.”
“Kind of?”
“Okay, a real asshole. But bad guys can be fun to play.”
As problematic as this is, he needs to get off book before I can get off again, so I get back to my assignment. He only makes a couple mistakes, which I correct. The section ends with Diana saying, “‘Adieu, till then; then, fail not. You have won a wife of me, though there my hope be done.’”
“‘A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.’” He rolls over and nuzzles my neck. “Same goes for you,” he murmurs against my skin.
Tension knots below my ribcage. “Except for everything else in the scene, I hope.”
“Don’t worry.” He snuggles in next to me and closes his eyes. “I may find him interesting to pretend to be, but I would never cheat on someone in real life.”
At the word “cheat,” the Lost in Space robot chants “Danger Will Robinson” in my head. “Well, I hope he gets his just deserts in the end.”
He rolls to his back, his gaze on the ceiling. “Well, yes and no. It’s one of Shakespeare’s problem plays. He leaves the ending a little ambiguous, and the director hasn’t yet decided how to play it.”
“But how can you—how do you pretend to be someone you would never want to be in real life?”
His eyes are lit with passion when he turns to face me. Not the passion I’m now well acquainted with, but one that obviously fuels his drive. “That’s the coolest thing about acting. Since the Greeks, actors have taken audiences through both tragedies and comedies in a way that helps us all, like, purge the dark and revel in the light.”
My face must reflect my confusion because he grabs my hand to continue.
“You know when you go to a concert and you can actually feel the music reverberating in your bones?”
I’ve only been to a few live concerts, but I nod.
“It’s more subtle when you go to a play, but it happens there too.” Two fingers press on my sternum. “An actor’s voice and the emotion it carries go right in here and literally move you. To tears, to laughter.”
I’m not sure if I believe him, but it kind of makes sense. “But what about you? How do you—I don’t know—take on a character that you don’t like?”
“Well, that’s what I spent four years studying to do, but… I think the easiest way to think of it is you either go inside/out or outside/in.”
He checks to make sure I’m still with him, so I nod.
“Outside/in, you imagine what this guy Bertram would look like, how he would move.” Will jumps up and begins strutting around the room. Even naked, he suddenly looks like a trader. His shoulders are broader, his gaze sharper, his smile smug. “The way I take up space affects the way other people treat me, and that helps me figure out who this guy is.”
“And the other way?”
He crawls back over the bed and snuggles in next to me. “That’s a bit trickier. You say, if I were raised under these circumstances and with this set of experiences, how would I feel in this situation? Then you take that kernel of truth and build from there.”
I’m just beginning to wonder if I can try one of these methods to create a version of me that’s more confident when he sends me a hopeful look. “Can we do it again?”
“Of course.” I hold up the book. “I am known to be a very difficult taskmaster. I will not let you rest until you have performed satisfactorily.”
“That sounds like a challenge, mistress.” He whips the book and the sheet away.
I grin, heart pounding in anticipation. “What are you going to do about it?”
He crawls over me. “‘Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.’”
“Translation: it’s time for a sex break?”
His answer is to skim his shirt off my eager torso.
WILL
I’m not sure how I saw today going, but I sure didn’t expect a sex marathon interrupted only by either laughter or the intake of food. I’m not ready for it to end, so I use the kitchen phone to leave a message for Deb and Pam. “Hey guys, it’s Will. Just calling to say I am not dead on the side of the road. I’m staying over at Kate’s place. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When I hang up, Kate fans out a stack of takeout menus. “Thai, Chinese, Mexican or pizza? We’ve got the globe at our fingertips here in Central Square.”
Leaning against the counter, I pull her in and nestle our hips together. “Chinese sounds good. Or whatever you want.”
“I’m good with Chinese. We can order it and then walk over and pick it up, or have it delivered.”
“Let’s walk and get it. And I’ll eat anything, so just order what sounds good to you.”
“Okey-dokey.” I hand her the phone and she dials without consulting the menu for the number, wandering around the kitchen as she talks. “Hi, Jiao, it’s Kate B.” She listens for a moment before continuing. “You too. Um, can I have an order of my usual and”—eyes on me, she purses her lips before continuing—“a beef and broccoli? With extra rice and spring rolls? Okay, thank you! We’ll come pick it up.” She pauses, and a blush creeps up her cheeks. “Oh, no, it’s not for Alice, it’s… a new friend. Okay. See you in a few. Bye.”
“You have a usual? And they know all your friends?”
“Jiao is very friendly. Motherly. Okay, nosy. I do kind of eat there a lot. I don’t really cook.” She shrugs. “Sorry if that disappoints you.”
“Why would it disappoint me?”
“Well,” she says, sweeping an arm around her rather bare kitchen, “I’m not exactly domestic.”
I had to impersonate a tiger in an acting class once, and I take him
on again to stalk her now. “I’m not looking to domesticate you, believe me.” I scoop her up, growling. She squeals as her legs cross behind my lower back. “Why would I want to tame this beast?”
Our kiss is interrupted by a different sort of growl. “Was that your stomach or mine?”
“I think both.” Her thighs squeeze once more before she jumps down and grabs my hand. “C’mon. This wild animal needs her dinner.”
Half an hour later, we’re on the way back to her apartment with a huge bag of food, my hunger eclipsed by the discomfort that followed Kate paying for dinner, even though I hadn’t exactly had a choice. Jiao, who managed to get my name, hometown and perhaps even my social security number, waved me off when I tried to pay. “Very gentleman-like, but Kate has account. She paid already.”
I probably shouldn’t feel emasculated by her paying in this day and age since girls are supposed to be liberated and all that, but I can’t help thinking that Hot Steve, or someone like him, would have insisted on picking up the tab.
Back at her place, Kate asks me to put on some music while she sets the table. Perusing her cassette and album collection in the other room, I’m happy to see some of my favorites. I put on The Specials. “Rat Race” seems appropriate.
The scent of food draws me back to the kitchen. “This looks great.”
She hands me a plate. “Help yourself.”
As soon as we start in, Kate releases a loud moan. When I catch her eye, she ducks her head. “Sorry. I’m just really hungry.”
“Don’t apologize. I like how passionate you are.” My foot finds hers under the table. “About all kinds of things.” After a few more bites, I add, “I have to say, it kind of surprised me.”
She grabs a spear of broccoli with her chopsticks. “What do you mean?”
“Well, that day I saw you with Steve? At the community center? I had a hard time reading you. And at the bar, too.” I wave a hand up and down in front of my face. “You had sort of a mask up. But right now, and all day today, you’ve been like a different person.”
“Yeah.” Her gaze out the window, she lets out a little sigh. “I do my best to stay under the radar around the guys I work with. The way I dress, the things I talk about—I keep it all buttoned up.”
“Isn’t it hard to work in a situation like that? Where you have to cover up who you are?”
She shrugs. “It’s the only way I can survive. Plus, I don’t want to be friends with them. I want them to respect me.” Her chopsticks become extensions of her hands, emphasizing her points as she gathers steam. “And most of them have very little respect for women. So, if they see me as this gender-free being who produces the best research and who makes the right calls the majority of the time, I don’t care what they think of me.”
She scoops up more orange chicken. “This is so good. Do you want any more of it?”
“I’m good, thanks.” I give up on the chopsticks and grab a fork. “Jiao seemed surprised to see a man with you.”
She swallows. “Actually, you’re the first person I’ve slept with in three years.”
I have to cover my mouth and cough to avoid choking on the food I just shoveled in. “Are you kidding me? But you’re so… into it.”
Eyes glued to her plate, she pushes her food around. “I had a disaster of a breakup my senior year of college, and I just decided I was going to concentrate on my career for a while. It’s not like I can’t enjoy myself by myself.” One side of her mouth lifts. “There is one more drawer in my nightstand.”
My smile matches hers. Before I can suggest that we check out drawer number three, she asks, “And anyway, what about you? From what Deb and Pam said, it seems like you haven’t been dating much.”
“Ugh, I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone with them. My roommates have big mouths.” I fish around in the bag for the fortune cookies. “Kind of a similar story, I guess. I was dating a costume designer named Callie for a couple years. Off and on.”
Dumping the cookies on the table, I stow empty containers in the bag. “I knew her from college, so it was easy in some ways. Except that we’d break up every few months over one thing or another. When she got a job that took her to Los Angeles, we broke up for good.” I close the containers that still have food in them and arrange them neatly on the table.
“What about all the actresses you work with? It seems like movie and TV actors are constantly falling in love with their costars.” Her casual tone isn’t quite convincing and I guess I can’t blame her for worrying.
“There is intimacy to the work we do that can encourage that kind of thing, especially if you’re pretending to be in love with somebody onstage night after night. But in my experience, that can get messy. Anyway, after Callie moved, I wanted to be free to focus on the acting. Like your work, it takes up a lot of my time.”
Kate gets up to throw away the trash. “I wonder if we’ll ever see each other again after tomorrow.” She leans back against the sink, her arms crossed, and stares at the wall behind me. “I have to be at work so early, while yours probably goes late.”
“What time do you go in?”
“We have a sales meeting every day at eight, so I have to be there by seven thirty.”
“A.M.?” She nods. “Every day?” She nods again. “That’s insane.”
“The stock market opens at nine thirty.” The cat saunters into the room, and she picks him up. “The analysts have to present our recommendations to the sales guys at the meeting so they can get on the phone and get those recs out to their contacts by opening. Plus,” she says, making a face, “I usually get up at five thirty to run.”
“I usually don’t get home before midnight during the week.” Maybe this weekend will be the extent of our time together. That would suck.
She strokes the cat’s fur and it purrs loudly. “What about the film? When does that start?”
“Not till after All’s Well opens. The shoot dates are at the end of June, but I don’t have any idea what that schedule will be. They did say they’d work around my performances, but I’ll believe that when I see it.” Just thinking about it has my knee jiggling.
“But you said you liked the script, right?”
“I do. I guess I’m looking forward to working on it, but it’s so weird that we don’t have rehearsals. It seems like I’m just supposed to learn my lines and show up and do it.” I get up and stow the leftovers in the fridge. I guess she really doesn’t cook. The only thing in there besides a bottle of ketchup, a couple of yogurts and the eggs I brought is a half-empty bottle of white zinfandel. I hold it up, grinning. “Do you have something to confess?”
“I’m taking the Fifth on that one.” The cat yowls, and Kate sets him on the floor. She tosses me a fortune cookie as she calls out “Catch.” She snuggles in next to me as she cracks one open. “What does yours say?”
I smooth out the dusty slip of paper, but that doesn’t help it make sense. “‘The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.’ Huh?”
She grins. “Obviously, that means you shouldn’t get to the film set early. You definitely want to be the mouse, not the bird.”
“If you say so. What does yours say?”
Her eyebrows waggle. “‘A very useful tool will soon be part of your life.’”
“Hmmm. A hammer? A wrench?”
“More along the lines of a thing that’s battery operated.” She flaps the paper in the air. “Drawer number three?”
“I’m in. However,” I say, pointing at a third cookie, “there’s one more.”
She grabs it. “Oh, yeah, Jiao always gives me an extra. We have to arm wrestle for it. That’s the rule.”
This girl kills me.
We sit across from each other and she places the fortune cookie between us.
“Okay, one, two, three—go!” Surprising me, she has my hand almost to the tabletop before my brain catches up. When it finally does, I suspend our joined hands an inch above the surface. Keeping it there,
I kiss her cheek, which is flushed with effort.
“Hey, no cheating!”
“Who started before I was even ready?”
She groans, straining to push my arm down. “No extraneous contact.”
I hold up my free hand to prove I’m not cheating and then press her arm up and over to the other side. “I win.” I grab the cookie and crack it open. “‘Do or do not. There is no try.’”
“In bed!” She jumps up and races back to the bedroom.
I’m no idiot. I follow.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BEEP. SUNDAY, 7:45 p.m.
Kate, it’s Gail. Listen, Roland just called and he’s in the hospital. Nothing to worry too much about—apparently he has appendicitis. They’re scheduling surgery. I’ll need you to meet me in the office at seven tomorrow to go over his pitches before the sales meeting.
KATE
Just before tiptoeing out of my apartment Monday morning, I take one final peek at what I’m leaving behind: Will, asleep in my bed with Frankie curled up next to him.
Wouldn’t mind seeing that every morning.
Yikes. Where did that idea come from?
Zipping the thought inside my bag along with my heels, I power-walk to the T station in my sneakers and then skip down the stairs to the platform. Even my worries about Roland’s health and the resulting changes to my workload can’t wipe the smile off my face. As the train hums down the track, memories from the past two days have all my parts humming, too.
Even though it’s time to go back to real life, this weekend was like a vacation I didn’t know I needed. More sex than I thought was possible in less than forty-eight hours, eating what and when I wanted and sleeping limbs-entangled with a gorgeous guy. Will learned all his lines and I got in some reading, but I worked less this weekend than I have in years. Good timing too, since I’m headed back to the daily grind doubled if I’m going to take on some of Roland’s load.
The train lurches, jerking me back to the present. Taking in a deep breath, I consciously erase my worries. Even if a weekend like this never happens again, I’m glad it did. Maybe I’ll see Will again soon, maybe I won’t. It’s not like I’m looking for a real relationship, anyway. It was fun, the sex was great and really, that’s all I need.