by A. B. Wilson
Progress, definitely progress. I can do this, make connections, establish myself. I’ve got this. I whipped open the door to Wardrobe, almost colliding with Alina, who slipped out with a mumbled thanks, face buried in her clipboard.
“Hey!” I said as she quickly slid around me.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t see you. Everything all right? Good, I’ll see you around—Michael’s got me searching for a lost mic pack and I’ve got to run.” She rushed off without waiting for my response.
The rest of the day went about as well as that encounter. It was frustrating, like I was stuck behind a glass wall. I could hear and see everything happening, but I was completely separate from it all. Rory was cool, but Michael was spinning out of control and running Alina into the ground. Every time I saw her, her sunburn had gotten redder and her shoulders more hunched as she raced around on Michael’s behalf.
By the time I was done for the day, it was ten o’clock and my skin felt like it was about to crawl off my body. Rory had cancelled on our drink. He had a hot date, apparently. I was wearing a trail in the carpet in my suite with my pacing, considering whether or not a haircut would be a good idea—some sort of change seemed necessary—when my phone chimed with an incoming text. From Kate, of all people. I didn’t want to look, but it was followed by a second ding that had me swiping open my messages before I could stop myself.
Hey handsome, how’s my leading man?
I hear you’re busy down there, playing nice with the production bitches. Trying to make me jealous?
“What the actual fuck?” My internal monologue went audible in surprise. I didn’t want to respond, didn’t even know what to say. We were over, done. She’d driven the nail into the coffin. My phone chimed a third time.
MARKUS, wtf is your deal? You know Vanessa and I are friends, I can’t even believe you’d do this to me.
For a second, I didn’t even know who she was talking about, but then I remembered Vanessa, a completely incompetent actress, and her on-off husband, Terrance. Both had small parts on the show, but I hadn’t been in a scene with either of them yet. A fourth ding.
I mean, I know we’re fighting, but this is just a bump in the road. Sow your wild oats, I guess, we’ll talk more when you’re home. Love you!
I threw my phone so hard onto the bed it bounced twice. No way was I responding. I couldn’t get involved with her mind games. But I also couldn’t stop thinking, remembering, how good we’d once been. What we’d become, though, was a different story. I tried to pull my racing thoughts away from the Kate whirlpool that was only going to drag me down, and flipped on the TV. I rapidly scanned through channels, searching frantically for something to distract me. Oh! British Bake-Off! Perfect, I haven’t seen—
Ping! A fifth message from Kate, but this time a video clip with no message attached. My index finger shook slightly as I tapped the play button and was immediately treated to the sight of her going down on someone with a very thick, slightly crooked dick. She waved cheerfully at the camera and mouthed, “Hi, baby,” before licking him from balls to tip.
I threw on my running gear, forced my phone into an armband, paired my headphones and ran out of the room. My feet pounded the pavement as I tore off, unseeing.
* * * *
When I came back to awareness, I was dripping with sweat and bent over outside the crew house where I’d left Alina after our previous disastrous run-in with Mother Nature. My phone indicated that I’d left the hotel over an hour earlier and I had no idea where I’d been or what I’d done since then. My music was playing and I was standing there, shaking, when a hand tentatively gripped my shoulder.
“Markus? What are you doing here? Did you hurt yourself?”
I looked up into Alina’s concerned face and silenced the music. “I don’t know.” I swiped my cheek, realizing there were tears mixed in with the sweat. “No, that’s not right. I didn’t hurt myself, but I can’t get a handle on what’s happening to me.”
My breath was a series of uneven, jagged gasps. The soupy Georgia air felt like it was suffocating me, but I couldn’t stop talking and the words poured out in uneven patterns that only barely made sense. “Kate’s been texting me weird stuff, acting like we’re still together, and, an hour ago, a fucking video clip of her giving some guy a blow job. Why is she doing this?”
I dropped to a crouch with one hand on the dusty driveway, propping me up. Little puffs of clay dust started to turn to mud as they mixed with the sweat and tears on the backs of my fingers. “I can’t go through this again with her. I can’t. I need this job and I can’t let her wreck this for me too. Did you know she knows Vanessa? They’ve been talking and I fucking hate this.”
Alina gently squeezed my shoulder and knelt in the dirt next to me. She brought her hand down to rest on top of mine and intertwined her fingers with my own. It was so gentle, like she thought I might break if she pressed too hard. The tears and panic started to ebb as she pulled me up to stand, wrapped her other arm around my waist and tucked herself into my side. The comforting warmth of her body slowly brought my heart rate back down.
“Come on, let’s get out of the yard. We can talk more inside if you feel like it, and if you don’t, you can sit on the couch and be all sweaty and broody.”
The last was said with a gentle smile as she reached up and cupped her hand around my chin. She tightened her grip and tugged me around to face her. “Stop running and come in. Candace is out on a date with Rory and Ethan. Talk to me.”
I let her lead me in, suddenly noticing that she was wearing sleep shorts and a tank top. Her hair was haphazardly tied in a knot with a pencil through it, face glowing like she’d only recently finished some sort of skin care routine. She’d probably been getting ready for bed, and everything about her felt safe and calming, like a balm to my anxiety.
“Oh. So that’s why Rory skipped out on a drink with me. Huh. If I could indulge in the distraction—what is going on with those three?”
She shrugged. “If you’re asking romantically, I think they’re casually dating each other. Sexually, yeah, they’re together most nights. It works for them.” Without asking, she handed me a steaming mug of tea and gestured for me to drink up. “Here, for you, I’ll make another for myself. It’s chamomile.”
I looked down at the tea. Little drops of honey that hadn’t been fully stirred in bobbed on top. “That’s one reason why Kate broke up with me. She said that I’m too boring for her in bed and that I’m emotionally closed off. I don’t really think I am, though. I’ve been with men and women in the past. In groups, one-on-one. I prefer being with one other person, regardless of gender.” I glanced at her and asked, “Do you think it’s boring?”
Alina looked stunned at my abrupt disclosure. “Uh. Hm. Honestly? No. But I’ve never tried the group sex or open relationship thing. I mean, it’s definitely intriguing, but I have a hard enough time turning off my brain with one person. I can’t imagine how bad it would be with more.”
She started ticking off her worries on one hand. “Like, have I kissed Person Two enough? Maybe they’re feeling left out. Or shit, does Person One like nipple twists, or was that Person Three? I’d be the most annoying person in a three- or moresome. Everyone would hate me, and then I’d need to move to a deserted island. And don’t even get me started on how crappy it would feel to miss both of my boyfriends’ birthdays.”
“How do you think so much during sex?” I asked, genuinely curious. “That makes no sense to me. It’s not even possible.”
“Oh, it’s possible, all right. Usually I think myself straight out of an orgasm.” She slapped her hand across her mouth, horrified. “I shouldn’t have shared that.”
I laughed, and the residual tension rolled away. “Oh, I don’t mind. Apologies that you’ve never had good sex though. That’s truly a tragedy.”
“Screw. You.” She threw a couch cushion at me and laughed. “You don’t know me.” Humor looked good on her—cheeks flushed, a little embarrassed, but
not taking herself seriously.
“I’m so sorry for intruding tonight. I don’t think I said that yet. You look like you’re ready for bed and I feel like I barged in. I’ve never had a panic attack that severe. I thought running would help. It usually does.” I tried, unsuccessfully, to explain my sweaty presence outside her house as I twisted the now empty mug in my hands.
“It’s okay. I really don’t mind hanging out with you. Do you want to talk about what happened with Kate?” Her brow furrowed in concern, she reached out, plucked the empty mug from my hand and set it on the table.
“It’s easier to show you,” I said, and handed her my phone with Kate’s messages pulled up.
“Oh my god!” she whispered. “I almost didn’t believe it when you told me outside. I seriously think you should report this, file for a restraining order. Maybe re-think your manager’s recommendations on therapists.” She reached out again to touch my arm, this time grabbing my hand tightly in commiseration.
“Look,” she said, “you don’t need to stay in Savannah. Tell Michael that there’s an emergency at home that you need to deal with—you guys are friends, tell him the truth, this is a bit of an emergency. The remainder of your scenes can be shot on a stage. I’m on a direct flight to LAX tomorrow morning and heading to the airport at six. You can hitch a ride if you want.”
I started to protest, but she cut me off with a wave of her hand. “Seriously, if you say you need to get home, I guarantee he’ll bring everyone back to shoot the rest on a stage. A few camera guys can stay here and collect b-roll if needed.”
I nodded along, feeling the pressure to be decisive. “Fine, let me call the airline and see if I can get on that flight. Then I’ll text Michael. Would you be able to take me back to the hotel after, or should I call someone?”
“I can take you back. It might take a while to get a car here given the time. I’m mostly packed, was going to zone out with a movie and then head to bed.”
Alina wandered off while I made the call to the airline and booked the flight. I was about to hang up when I caught a glimpse of her dancing around the kitchen, loading our mugs into the dishwasher. Her off-key attempt at singing along with her playlist was innocently charming. But that sinuous hip movement that all women could somehow do that made them look like every bone in their bodies melted to conform around a dance partner looked more than fucking good when she did it. I shifted uncomfortably as my cock decided that this was a perfectly acceptable time to wake up after its long hibernation.
On the phone, I asked the airline rep if they could upgrade a fellow passenger to first class, and after a little finagling, Alina was set up next to me. I figured it was a nice thank-you for everything she had done tonight. I hung up and texted Michael to let him know my change of plans and exactly what had precipitated the change. Alina had been right. He understood. Then I tried to think of natural disasters and painful dental surgery in an effort to lose my irrational hard-on.
She strolled back in. “You good? We road-tripping tomorrow? Because if so, I’ve got dibs on music and snacks. And tagalong buddies get no say.”
“Do road-trip buddies get a vote when it comes to which truck stop adult toy stores we visit?” Why do I say such stupid shit? I sound like someone’s perverted uncle.
Her jaw dropped and she shook her head, then lost it and doubled over laughing. “Well that escalated quickly. Now, are you coming—oh, god. Don’t say anything. Get in the car.”
I grinned and snagged my headphones from the table, grateful that I hadn’t offended my only friend and ride out of here. “Thanks for tonight. Really, you didn’t have to do any of this. You could have sent me home. Thank you for being here.”
She looked at me like she was about to say something, but she shut her mouth. “Absolutely. Now let’s get you back to the hotel. Someone needs his beauty sleep. And some professional help, but we can talk about that in the morning.”
Chapter Six
Alina
Given my addiction to punctuality and general manners, Markus earned a few bonus points for already being outside the hotel when I pulled up the next morning. He was sitting on a suitcase, with a backpack, hat and sunglasses on. As he drummed one hand on his thigh, the other brought a cigarette to his mouth for a long drag. The habit was gross and I rolled my window down in preparation for the stench.
“Hey, get in the truck, handsome.”
Markus startled, looking around. I rolled my eyes. Give me a break. Who else would I be talking to? His lack of ego and occasional insecurity continuously endeared him to me. The way his eyes lit up as he caught my own didn’t hurt either.
“Ah, Alina. Thank you for the ride,” he said somewhat formally as he threw his bags into the back seat after hurriedly grinding out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. “I’m so glad that you suggested taking the earlier flight. Truly, I need to get out of here—”
“Shut up. Seriously, it’s okay. I’m glad we’re getting you home before you completely lose your shit. I wasn’t kidding last night when I said that you should look into professional help. I’m a decent listener, but not a therapist.”
His face fell, going from hopeful to hurt, and his hands knotted into fists.
My attempt to backtrack was pathetically awkward. “God. I’m sorry. That came out way harsh. Let’s get some coffee. I’m an asshole until I’ve had my first cup.” I started to reach toward him and dropped my hand as I watched him buckle up and lean into the window, as far away from me and my thoughtless words as possible. “Markus, really, I didn’t mean it. You’re going through some serious stuff and that was insensitive. I apologize.”
A tiny muscle in his jaw twitched as he tugged his hat lower and crossed his arms across his chest. “It’s fine,” he said, still refusing to look me in the eye. At least he uncurled a bit and shifted away from the window completely.
As we pulled into a Starbucks drive-through, he muttered, “Besides, you’re not wrong. I was thinking about it a lot last night. What I should do when I get home, et cetera, et cetera.”
I ordered, then as we pulled up to the window I asked, “And what did you decide?”
The lady handed me our coffees, doing a double take when she saw my passenger.
“Hey, isn’t that—”
I pulled away, screeching the tires, before she could finish.
“I didn’t decide anything definitively, I guess. I mean, other than the fact that I won’t be responding to Kate, and that you’re right, I probably need more help than I thought I did.” He shrugged, opened the lid of his to-go cup and blew on the hot liquid in a vain attempt to cool it down.
“I did realize, though, that I need this job, and maybe there’s a way for me to make it more than a bit part. Before yesterday, I was only halfway considering talking to Michael about staying on, but now I think it’s imperative. I can’t sit around my house having a breakdown. I need to fix myself and be out working, showing everyone I’m still bankable.”
I hummed in agreement. “Anything I can do? Really, let me know. I can sound out Michael, maybe the screenwriters, and see what they think. Not that it would be a hard sell or anything—pretty sure the network will greenlight us forever if they get wind of you wanting to stay on.”
“No, thank you,” he said more easily as he reached over to turn up the volume on the radio. “I’m going to see if Michael can meet with me tomorrow. It would be interesting to help him define a role within this show’s weird world.”
I nodded and smiled at him. “Good. Like I said, let me know. Happy to help you out—you know, since you’re my knight in semi-tarnished armor and all.”
He grinned back at me, a little dimple in his cheek shyly peeking out at me for the first time since he’d rescued me at the park, and settled in after taking a sip of his coffee.
* * * *
The ride felt shorter than usual given the early hour, and we pulled into the rental car return about thirty minutes ahead of schedule. I gently shook his shou
lder. “Markus, we’re here. Wake up.”
He grabbed my hand and pulled it over his chest as he tried to roll to the side. “Five minutes,” he muttered.
At least I assumed that was what he said. It was in German. And it was clear that he wasn’t awake at all. I tried shaking him again. “Markus, we’ve got to go. Time to go home.”
He mumbled something else in German with his eyes closed and brought my hand to his face, kissed it gently and shook his head. “Nein.”
My stomach did that weird flip thing again. His soft lips on my palm were a stark contrast to the rough stubble on his cheeks. But now the rental car guys were staring at us curiously. I wrenched my hand loose from beneath his cheek and shook him a little harder. “Markus, now!”
Still no response, so I decided it was time to pull out the heavy artillery. Crossing my fingers that he wouldn’t wake up swinging, I stuck my finger in my mouth and quickly dipped it into his ear. My eardrums nearly ruptured as he shrieked out some sort of Viking war cry.
“Argh! What was that?” he yelled at an unholy volume, shuddering and pawing at his ear. His sunglasses were askew and he stared at me with eyes that threatened to shoot laser beams at me.
I shrugged. “Wet willy. Had to go nuclear. Now get up. We’re at the airport.” The last was somewhat unnecessary, as he was violently twisting around, scrambling to get out of his seatbelt and the car.
“What the fuck is a ‘wet willy’?” he muttered from behind me, still pawing at his ear while he grabbed his bags.
I winked at the laughing car return guys and grabbed my own stuff, including the all-important memory cards containing the raw footage for everything we’d shot to date in Savannah. I smirked. “Let’s go, princess.”
We weren’t running late, but Markus’ long legs were eating up the walkway to ticketing faster than my own could go. It wasn’t like I was short or out of shape, either. He was hauling ass like he was trying to run away from a burning Target on Black Friday with the last eighty-inch flat screen and a horde of overzealous Midwestern soccer moms on his heels.