Playing for Love

by Mel Curtis

  “Oh, yes,” Mimi giggled. “Now I remember. Cal said Amber could turn a gerbil into an Oscar contender.”

  Amber burst out laughing. Obviously, Cal had put Kent in his place and the set down had rolled right off his back. Had her father had a hand in Cal’s insightful view of the world? Amber hoped so.

  And then Mimi spoke, dispelling the comforting idea of karma, master plans and happiness. “When can you start? I need lots of help.”

  “Kent and I were just discussing timelines for him,” Amber ground out.

  “But what about me? I know Kent totally sucks on his film, but I’m starting a reality show on Monday. Please.” Mimi reached across the table to grip Amber’s wrist as she reached for her martini glass again, having decided alcohol was necessary to make it through dinner. “We need you every minute of the day!”

  Speechless, Amber felt as dumb as Doodles.

  “Of course she’ll help you, Mims,” Kent said, rubbing a lock of her sunshine colored hair between his fingers.

  Amber found her voice when she looked away. “Actually, I’m booked up the next two weeks.” Until the end of the regular basketball season. May the powers that be ensure Amber kept her panties out of Evan Oliver’s reach until then.

  “Oh, no.” Tears filled Mimi’s blue eyes so quickly Amber suspected little Miss Sorbet was a better actress than she let on. “No, that can’t be,” Mimi concluded in a breathless voice that would have made Marilyn Monroe proud.

  “I didn’t say you won’t receive coaching,” Amber replied airily, lifting her glass out of Mimi’s reach as she found the perfect solution to a myriad of problems. “My sister, Cora, is available.”

  Evan parked in the back of Wicked Tantric at one minute after eight, the scheduled start time for Senge’s talk. No sense in getting there early and having to make small talk with other attendees.

  What are you here for?

  Premature ejaculation. And you?

  There was only one other car in the lot and the paparazzi were oddly missing, which had Evan counting his blessings – not that he would have made the attention getting entrance and exit Amber had if they’d been here. He would have driven on.

  Evan had returned from the Flash’s road trip only to be followed home once more by Brock, who was now comfortably camped out at his house. Given the choice between a night of Brock’s company and going to Wicked Tantric, Evan chose the possibility of sexual enlightenment. He needed to kick this obsession with Amber to the curb. There was only one way to do it – do it right.

  An Asian woman in a low-cut red dress at the reception desk sent Evan upstairs. The door to the second floor studio was open. A man stood behind a podium flanked by an open box of books.

  “Come in. Come in.” He spoke with the Indian accent you always heard on technical support lines nowadays. His swarthy complexion and wrap-around pants like a droopy orange diaper, lent him an air of swami status. He was either the real deal or selling snake oil. “You are here to hear me speak, no?”

  “You’re Senge Tenzing?”

  He spread his arms and came down a couple of steps. “I am the one with the answers you seek. You may begin asking now.”

  “I came to listen,” Evan said defensively. No way was he going to admit he’d recently had some challenges in the bedroom.

  “And listen you will, but since there are so few others here…”

  Evan glanced around again. They were alone, which didn’t bode well for Senge’s credibility.

  “…would not it be better to listen to what you came to hear?”

  Evan’s face grew warm.

  “Ahh, it is for intercourse you seek me.” His laughter was rich and echoed in the studio. “Although my door is open, few have the inner strength to come to me. You will buy my book and then we shall discuss chapter seventeen. Come.” Senge turned back to the podium.

  Was Evan seriously considering taking sex advice from a guy in a skirt?

  “Now is not the time to hesitate. You see you are the only one with the courage to show up this night.” Senge had ascended the stairs and turned, gesturing Evan closer. “I am a master of the tantric, which tells us that a brief physical union is not as satisfying as a day spent cloaked in heaven. But I am getting ahead of myself.”

  Senge picked up a red leather bound book entitled The Guide to Wicked Fulfillment. He flipped toward the back, showing Evan a page with an ancient drawing of a naked man sitting Indian-style with a woman in his lap. He turned the page and tapped a picture of the same couple joined sideways. And then showed Evan another drawing with a woman bent over a chair and the man entering her from behind.

  Senge handed the book to Evan. “You will notice that in each photo the woman shows extreme pleasure. Women are generally greedy when it comes to physical relations.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone describe a woman being greedy about sex.” But that did seem to describe Amber. Evan chuckled. “These pictures look like History Channel porn.”

  Senge snatched the book away from Evan and closed it with a snap. “Women can achieve joy without a union, as can a man, but the goal of a man is to spend as much time as possible joined, united, wrapped up in the cloak of heaven.” He set the book carefully back in the box. “Men, you see, are generally more imaginative in their positions than women. And yet men have little control over their release once the woman agrees to the position. The agreement is a fantasy fulfilled and those few seconds in paradise are enough.”

  Evan wished Senge had chosen different words. He was a little time sensitive just now.

  “My teachings involve stamina and discipline of the mind. The drawings in these books are not depictions of sex.” Senge waggled his finger at Evan. “They are examples of a man bringing a woman to climax, yet dwelling in that space between excitement and release, that space where a man wants the feeling to last forever. A woman will come again and again while you walk the cliff above release.”

  Now that was more like it. One mind blowing day of sex with Amber and Evan would be able to walk away satisfied.

  “But you can only achieve that space by knowing the heart and mind of your woman and by controlling your kundalini. When the kundalini arises and the heart opens, a spiritual joining may be achieved. It is all here in my book. My teachings and discipline will keep you from being weak.” He giggled. “How do you Americans call it? A quick draw?”

  Evan frowned.

  “But before we begin, two things. You must have a woman in mind. A woman that tests your resolve.”

  Evan nodded. He had one of those.

  “And five hundred dollars. Cash or American Express travelers checks.” Senge must have noticed Evan’s reluctance, for he added, “Heaven does not come cheap in L.A.”

  This was either the craziest stunt he’d fallen for or the best thing to happen to him. “Anonymity is part of the deal, right?”

  “Within these walls, yes.”

  Evan reached for his wallet.

  “I’ll take one, too,” Brock said from across the room.

  “You fucking followed me?” Evan took two steps toward Brock, intent upon pounding the shit out of him, but something held him back – Senge Tenzing’s hand on his arm.

  “Ren called and asked if you’d come here.” Brock shrugged. “I was curious.”

  “Let me satisfy your curiosity by reminding you how my fist feels in your face.” Evan lunged, but the little swami was deceptively strong and held him back.

  “We do not fight here,” Senge spoke calmly.

  “That’s not what it looked like when Amber came to visit,” Evan muttered.

  “Amber? Amber Rule?” Senge’s grip relaxed. “You are a client?”

  “Yes.” Evan yanked his arm free. “Not by choice.”

  “Your fee is waived.” Senge turned to Brock, who had joined them at the podium. “But you, good sir, must have two things. First – ”

  “Can I borrow five hundred dollars?” Brock cut Senge off, hand o
utstretched to Evan.

  “Cash or American Express travelers checks,” Senge repeated with a weary sigh.

  “I’m all for you walking cliffs, Brock.” Evan dropped a wad of cash in Brock’s palm. “The sooner you make that walk, the sooner you’re out of my life.”

  Chapter 30

  L.A. Happenings by Lyle Lincoln

  … Ah, springtime. Love is in the air. Or is it? From the two on-again/off-again teen film stars seen knoodling at The Ivy during a late dinner a few days ago to one of the Rules spotted whispering to her Oscar nominated former flame over drinks at Matteo’s. These couples do their best work when together. But what of the hearts they’ve cast aside?

  “Are you kidding me?” Amber stood, Lyle’s column clutched in one hand, a piece of baklava pinched in the other. Sleep (and a burnt out vibrator) hadn’t cured her angry funk. Amber was still primed for something.

  Sonny and Yvonne were so used to Amber’s morning outbursts they just stared up at her from their regular spots at the kitchen table. They looked a little weary, as if they, too, had stayed up half the night studying the Rules and been jolted awake by every car that drove by.

  “It’s not fair. Lyle makes it sound like…” Amber tossed the rest of the baklava into the trash. “I don’t want to do this anymore. Surely, working for someone else has to be easier than being the Dooley Foundation CEO.” And significantly less high profile.

  “I knew it’d come to this.” Sonny shook his head.

  “You can’t quit,” Yvonne said quickly.

  “Why not? Everyone’s against me.”

  “Not everyone,” Sonny mumbled, tugging at his colorful suspenders.

  Yvonne gave her husband another piece of baklava and a shut up stare.

  “Well, maybe not you two,” Amber allowed. “But Lyle’s holding some kind of grudge. Blue’s been lying to me. Cora hates me. Jack Gordon doesn’t want to pay me. I haven’t even gotten him to sign a contract, so everything I’m doing with Evan Oliver could be a waste of time.” Not everything. Amber recalled the intensity of Evan’s touch.

  “Money, the spotlight, rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous, a company to run. You’re right. It sucks to be you,” Sonny said, his Southern accent conspicuously absent as he reached for his coffee. “Why don’t you join the rest of us losers? Faceless people who’ve forgotten their dreams and struggle to make ends meet.”

  Yvonne glared at her husband as if she’d like to kill Sonny.

  Amber blinked, pointed and spoke the words she should have said to Sonny the first day they met. “The door is that way.”

  Sonny laughed all the way out.

  “Oliver! What are you doing trailing on offense?” Coach Spinks paced out onto the court. “Are we going too slow for you?”

  Evan shook his head. Despite leading the Flash to two wins, Coach Spinks still wasn’t happy with Evan’s play. Today the coach had a legitimate reason to gripe. Evan had stayed up too late reading Senge Tenzing’s book. He’d delved into the importance of abstinence – been there, done his time – and foreplay – slow it down, make it last – and the mental and physical techniques recommended to increase his staying power – could he make love in a cold shower? All of which would have put Evan in a good mental place if there hadn’t been all those old fashioned porn drawings included in the book. He couldn’t look at one of those pictures without superimposing Amber’s face, lips parted in extreme pleasure as they walked the cliffs of heaven. Hot dreams of Amber partnering with him had Evan waking up rock hard and were the reason his balls were aching and slowing him down at practice.

  It didn’t help that Amber sat at the end of the court watching Evan, her auburn hair hanging in long ringlets down her back. Or that he worried that Senge had told Amber about his visit. Or that Antoine had asked Evan if Amber had dumped him for some actor, claiming he’d seen her picture on a gossip web-site this morning. Amber wasn’t going back to pretty-boy Decklin without Evan possessing her first.

  Lucky for Amber, she was waiting for Evan in the hall after practice. Otherwise, he would’ve had to hunt her down. It was either that or call that actress whose name he couldn’t remember, the one with the Creamsicle-colored clothes.

  In hip-hugging black jeans, red Adidas shoes and a snug green T-shirt that outlined her curves, Amber fell into step with Evan. “You look tired. Late night?”

  “Not as late as yours, apparently.” He allowed himself a good look at her face. Amber looked tired, like she’d been up all night having sex. Damn it.

  “I take it you saw the Happenings column,” Amber grumbled. “I should have seen that setup before it exploded in my face. Geez, you were right. I’m so stinkin’ naïve.” Amber stopped and turned her back to Evan, combing her glorious hair over one shoulder. “Do I have a sign on my back that says Take Advantage of Me?”

  There were so many openings in her words that Evan didn’t know which one to take.

  He hesitated too long. Amber spun around, heading for the door. “Never mind. Everyone wants to use me for money or use me for sex.”

  “It’s a pity being first doesn’t get you preferential treatment.” He’d laid claim last week, but Amber ignored that volley and walked out into the spring sunshine. Evan did a quick scan of the parking lot, but there was no red-hatted photographer about today. “Want me to take Kent Decklin out for you?”

  “Like you did with Brock?” Amber faced Evan squarely. Hands fisted where her hips flared. Sunlight glinted off her curls, making them seem as red and raw as her indignation. “Yeah, I figured out you gave him that shiner. I hope you apologized.”

  “A shiner needs no apology.” Brock had better be out of Evan’s house soon or there’d be another black eye coming.

  Amber scoffed. “Just once, I’d like to deck somebody like a man.”

  “The problem with that is…” Appreciating her sass, Evan took in her hourglass curves. “You’re not a man.” Not by a long shot.

  “And yet here I am. In a man’s world. I ought to be able to hit somebody.”

  “Hit me. I can take it.” Evan pounded his chest as they neared his Ferrari. “What’s your deal? Did Decklin – ”

  “Kent Decklin’s become a client. Lucky me. Can’t kill him. Can’t slug him. Can’t sleep with him.”

  It didn’t matter that there was a note of resignation in Amber’s voice. Something raw and primal had Evan’s legs eating up the distance between them. “So, you’ll be spending time with Decklin, too?”

  “Hey, my brother and beautiful lady,” Ren called. “Where are we going to lunch today?”

  “You all going to lunch?” Antoine said in his Southern drawl, standing by a gleaming black Caddy SUV and flashing his gold tooth. “I could use some food.”

  It was on the tip of Evan’s tongue to tell them all to screw off, but Amber spoke first. “Yep. I’m buying. You may as well take advantage of me. Everyone else does.”

  Had Amber slept with Kent Decklin or not? Evan still didn’t know.

  Which was how Evan found himself at a local sandwich shop Amber picked out. The owner was apparently a friend of Amber’s, so the service was great, although the four of them had to cram into a booth. Given the tight space beneath the table for long legs, Evan had no choice but to prop his leg against Amber’s.

  “Do you ever dream about your games or your performance?” Amber was asking Antoine and Ren, unaware that her words had Evan remembering the vivid details of his Technicolor dreams last night. Amber plowed through her chicken salad on her way to the halfway mark, but she was wound up tighter than an outgrown jock strap. Her knee bounced like it had that day in Jack’s office.

  “I don’t dream.” Ren attacked his second teriyaki chicken sandwich.

  “I have nightmares,” Antoine admitted. “Some games I can’t believe how bad…” He trailed off, perhaps realizing two of his teammates were at the table.

  “Before you go to bed tonight create your own play of the day about a perfect performanc
e in tomorrow’s game.” Amber tapped a spot over her heart. “Make sure you feel good about it, here.”

  Evan shook his head at her bull. “Like that’ll make dreams come true?”

  “The mind is a tricky thing.” Amber tossed her hair over her shoulder. Ren and Antoine were hanging onto her every word. From the waist up she appeared composed, but that rapidly moving leg told a different story. “Half of your brain dreams big and the other half enjoys tearing down those dreams. Some cultures have created special boxes to hold negative thoughts while you dream. Others have worry dolls that you tell your troubles to before you go to bed at night.”

  “You forgot to mention voodoo dolls.” Evan handed Amber a chili cheese fry. He’d ordered the heart attack in a paper tray just to watch her eat them.

  Amber paused her diatribe to savor the flavor combination. Even her knee stilled.

  He’d missed her. Wasn’t that weird? And totally out of line with the job that lay ahead of him. Evan and the Flash had won four of five games. That left four games in which Evan needed two wins to guarantee an NBA contract next year. Nothing should come between Evan and his dream. He needed to eat, breath and sleep basketball. Nothing else.

  “The point is,” Amber dabbed at her lips with a napkin and the knee reverted to rhythmic cruise control. “To acknowledge those fears that you aren’t as good as you want to be – but that you are as good as you can be today. It frees up your mind to focus on the positive. You can dwell on one little mistake…a…a bad pass or a missed shot…and totally overlook what you’re doing well.”

  She continued to babble on. A lock of her hair fell forward unnoticed. What in the hell was Amber so upset about?

  You don’t know her heart and mind.

  Senge’s book had preached that had to be done before his superhuman sex was possible. So Evan did something he never did – he got nosey. “You watched any good infomercials lately?” He combed his fingers through the wayward strands of Amber’s hair, brushing them behind her shoulder, quelling the urge to cup her head and bring her closer so he could savor the drop of chili cheese sauce on the corner of her mouth.