by Ava Moore
I thank the staff who were able to turn me into a total sexpot and I’m out the door, to the driver who greets me and helps me into the back seat of the car. The leather molds to my skin and I nestle in the back, feeling my stomach simultaneously form into knots. I have done so well all day, trying to separate myself from the situation but now that I am on my way, my body starts to respond negatively. I am nervous; actually, I am beyond nervous. I am certain my stomach is going to empty its guts any second now and my palms are so sweaty, I am certain I am staining the leather bench seat. “What am I doing?” I start repeating to myself, between puffs of oxygen into my lungs. I feel like I’m going to pass out for sure but I keep it together, barely. The thought of seeing Ashton alone, makes me feel sick to stomach and to pair that with seeing Samantha Stone hanging off of him, it’s enough to make me want to cry. I swallow hard as a means to try to steady myself, and put my hand on my right leg, which subconsciously keep bouncing up and down. I can feel the perspiration form underneath my arms and I open them up a bit, flapping them up and down, hoping it will cool me off. “Can you open the back window a bit please?” Maybe the fresh air will do me some good.
The driver presses the button and the window comes down slightly, allowing cool and crisp summer air to fill the interior of the town car. I embrace the frigid air as it occupies my nostrils and lungs, allowing my body temperature to decease to some extent. It helps, if only a little. He manipulates and dodges the car through the busy New York City evening traffic and a hot five minutes later, the car stops at our destination. I look out the window and can see the paparazzi line the entrance, cameras armed and ready to go to war. “Here you are, Miss Parker. Enjoy your evening.”
“Thanks,” I whisper to the driver, my voice caught in my throat. I don’t bother correcting the speech error and open the door, exiting before he can even get out and around the other side to hold the door open for me.
I step out of the car and onto the wet sidewalk, fresh from the afternoon rain, trying my best not to obliterate these shoes that are worth more than anything I own. I step over a puddle and am on the steps towards the front entrance of the theatre. I pause for a moment and can hear the town car soar into the night, beckoning that I am alone once again. I don’t know what it is with drivers and me lately and why they bring me so much peace. Maybe it has to do with the calm before the storm phenomenon and how they are my last encounter with verity before I am ejected into a real life mirage. Maybe it is just the fact that they remind me of my dad and how he would drive me everywhere before he passed, always waiting in the car for me to get inside safely of wherever he was driving me to. That is probably it. I miss him terribly.
I take in one last deep breath and head towards the entrance, my body shivering the entire way. I enter the foyer, which is decorated to the nines. Chandeliers hang from the ceilings with a variety of different lengths and designs and everyone is dressed to fit the theme. Ashton’s film has him starring as a Great Gatsby type, so the entire room looks as though it has been plucked from the 1920’s and dropped right into this theatre, complete with a big band playing the classics. It’s stunning. Girls dressed in flapper outfits from that era are serving up 20’s inspired cocktails and appetizers, tending to every guest that they come in contact with. This is incredibly rare for a test screening and it feels more like a premiere, even though both of which I have never been to before. From what I’ve learned from working in the industry, test screenings are very private and are for invited guests only. They screen the latest cut the post production team has assembled and they test it in front of an audience to see if there are any moments that lag, that need some fixing or that just don’t need to be in there at all. The guests are suited up with a pencil and a pad of paper and the film has a time code on it allowing the guests to write down at what time they felt the film needed fixing. When you go to a premiere, the film is already completed and you keep your opinions to yourself, or vent about it later on Rotten Tomatoes. Nevertheless, the studio went all out for this test screening and it is bizarre, full of industry professionals who I recognize, other celebrities and of course, myself, standing there, alone, absorbing the whole room, trying my best to avoid and find Ashton all in the same fell swoop.
“Hello Miss and welcome to the private test screening of Away With Her. Would you like a champagne cocktail to start your evening?”
Free booze? I’ll take it and Lord knows I need it. I grab a flute off of the tray and give the server a grateful smile. Once the alcohol hits my lips, I down it in seconds and locate the bar as I do so, delightfully along with no sign of the man of the hour. Perfect. I’m going to need all of the booze and help in the world.
I step up to the bar and am greeted by a very attractive male, who is probably about my age or a little younger. “Well, good evening there madam. May I take your order?” he leans in and gives me a flirtatious glance. He’s cute and the dimple on the left side of this cheek is even cuter.
I flash a smirk back at him. “Sure, I’ll have a…”
“Beer. This fine lady here will have a brew,” the all-too familiar male voice interjects my thought process and cuts me off.
“I’m sorry. I’ll actually have a gin martini, dry, hold the olives. Thank you,” I correct him again and turn to face him. Ashton greets me with a smile and turns to the bartender quickly.
“My apologies, sir. This woman knows how to keep me on my toes. Make it two,” he turns back towards me and scans my body up and down. I can’t help but do the same to him. When all I wanted to do hours ago was slaughter him, now, I can’t think of anything else other than kissing him. His looks are overwhelming. His hair is trimmed slightly and slicked back close to his head, reminiscent of the era portrayed by his character. He is completely clean shaven, revealing even more freckles and spots on his face than I remembered. He’s wearing a tight navy blue suit, complete with a white dress shirt that in true Ashton Croft fashion is slightly unbuttoned, revealing that trace of chest hair and muscle that had my heart racing from the beginning.
“My god...” he pauses and absorbs my appearance, nearly salivating at the sight. All I really want to do is kick him square in the balls as hard as I can while I have him dazed, but I can’t bring myself to do anything but stare at him like a total doofus. He is too alluring for words and I’m speechless under his spell. “You are breathtaking.”
Thanks, jackass. I can feel my cheeks reddening as he stares at me and it makes me feel even more flustered. I can’t even form words and I turn away from him quickly. Thankfully, the cute bartender returns with our two martinis in hand and sets mine down in front of me. Perfect. I tend to my martini, hoping it will cool me off, but it does the opposite, only intensifying the red pigment in my face. I just want him to leave me alone. The anxiety he causes me is ludicrous.
“How have you been?” he starts attempting small talk with me but I refrain and I don’t give in. I think he can tell that I’m giving him the cold shoulder and that I don’t want to talk to him because he falls silent beside me and turns his body towards the bar. We both stand, parallel to each other, our bodies turned away but the space between us is riddled with tension. There are so many unspoken words and missed moments between us and we both consciously allow them to slip between our fingers. It’s heartbreaking and painful, but we withstand it.
I can hear him inhale deeply and how it trembles in his chest. I look down to the bar and in my peripheral vision, I can see him fiddling with the stem of his martini glass, clenching it with his fingers as he is trying to keep it together. I can feel my heart ache in my chest for him but I try to suppress and ignore it by taking another sip. He broke me and allowed his pet to slander my name across the country. I couldn’t bring myself to give him the time of day, no matter how badly my heart yearned for him.
Silent seconds continue ticking between us and the tension compounds on itself, increasing with every millisecond. I hear him breathe in and out once more, before he clears his
throat. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Frankly, all I want is to have the courage and the power to grab my martini, turn to him, glare at him deep in the eyes, splash this gin into them and watch it burn his retinas all the while cursing at him for toying with my heart and emotions like I’m some kind of game. All I can do in actuality is grip my martini a little tighter and clench my jaw as hard as I can, anything to try to prevent the tears from fleeing from my eyes. I can see him respond to my absence of a reaction, by turning to me to see if he can get a read on me, to which I turn to my right, trying to protect myself from showcasing any form of emotion that could disclose how his words really effect me. It works for a split second, that is, until I can feel the warmth of his hand resting on my forearm. “I need to talk to you…”
His words are disrupted by a raspy female voice, “Hey sexy, is that martini for me?” The cackle belongs to none other than Samantha Stone herself, who wraps her arm around his body, basically forcing him to carry her weight. His hand snaps off of my arm and is very reminiscent of how I acted when he turned me down sexually the other night. “What are you doing, handsome?”
Her use of repeated pet names makes me feel even more debilitated than I did before her boisterous entrance. I turn in their direction, cautiously, trying to shield my eyes from seeing anything that might cause me to feel even more pain. She’s stunning, a modern day Cleopatra. I knew she was beautiful from the pictures I had seen online but in person, she is captivating. She too, towered over me, and made me feel even more like a real life Ugly Betty. I am sure I am about the height of one of her legs that made her look like she’s never ending, especially in that tight black dress. “Who is this?”
She knows exactly who I am and the fact that she asks, is adding even more salt to my already infected wound. “I’m…”
“This is Trish. Trish Parker. She is a novelist,” Ashton cuts me off and introduces me himself. I find it so rude how controlling he is and how he must have dominance in any situation he is put in. Little does he know the power I have over him and how my position at work could literally destroy his little acting career in seconds.
“And how do you know Miss Parker?” her tone is so emasculating; it feels like every word she spits out is shredding me apart with a knife.
“We…”
“We are just friends,” Ashton cuts me off again, this time, acting like the final stabbing into my heart. He doesn’t have to know that I was just about to say the same four words, but the fact that he beat me to the punch, is the last blow I need to send me over the edge.
“I have to go. Excuse me,” I need to get out of this hellhole I’m in before I let anyone here see a hint of weakness. I turn around, abandoning my martini on the bar and leaving Ashton with his newest flavor of the week. I can feel the tears welling in my eyes and no matter how hard I try, one escapes during my bouts of clenching.
I’m nearly at the exit and steps away from safety when I can feel Ashton grab me by the arm and try to swing me around. “Trish, Trish just wait...”
“No! I’m done! Can you please just leave me alone?” I lose it. After allowing it to bottle up inside of me for so long, I can’t help but release it. I turn around and face him, tears streaming down my face and surely leaving mascara stains as each tear flows. “Please. I’m done.”
“Just let me explain myself…”
“There’s nothing to talk about! I shouldn’t have yes to the date with you. I was so stupid,” I choke on my words as my chest tightens and my sobs quicken. “Please, we shouldn’t have done this. It was a mistake. We are a mistake. Just let me go.” I pull away from this grip but he holds on tighter.
“Please. I need to tell you something…”
“Tell me what? That you upgraded? That I was just some ploy to make your career look better? That you used me and then sent me to the curb, never to talk to me again? That you fucked with my body, my head and my heart?” I feel like my entire body is on fire and my heart is about to leap out of my throat at any second. I’m trembling with anger and downright furious.
“I just need to explain…” he chokes on the words, gripping onto me tighter. I’m tempted to allow him to explain himself but truthfully, I just don’t want to get hurt again by him. I pull as hard as I can to free myself from him, but he grips tighter until I finally lose it completely.
“Just let me go, you fucking asshole!”
As soon as the words escape my lips, I can feel the hordes of eyes beaming on Ashton and I. Shortly after that, comes the flock of paparazzi, their flashbulbs going off in near millisecond intervals, enough to induce an panicked epileptic seizure. I can feel Ashton’s grip loosen on my skin through all of this commotion, until his hand only leaves a trace of warmth, which is instantly cooled to ice seconds later by the crisp New York air. My eyes strain to look for him, but he is huddled under some security guards jacket and rushed back inside to the safety of the building, while I’m being suffocated by the scum of the earth with their overpriced cameras.
“Who are you? You’re the girl from Sushi Yasuda? Is Ashton Croft cheating on Samantha Stone?”
“Are you sleeping with Ashton Croft?”
“Tell us your story. How are you associated with Ashton?”
“Is Ashton Croft in love with you?”
The questions fly out of their traps at a rapid rate, while I’m rushing to the street trying to find a cab, swatting them off of me like flies, all the while trying to conceal my face. Thankfully, cab drivers are circling the event like seagulls and I’m able to get a cab in a matter of seconds, even though to me in that moment, it feels like all of eternity.
I get inside the cab while the flashbulbs continue to go off, blinding me and my mascara clumped eyes. I can feel the makeup running down my face. This makeover was not even worth my time. I try to use my clutch to shield my face from being photographed further.
“Where to ma’am?”
“East 23rd Street and 3rd Ave please. Hurry.”
The driver pins the pedal to the floor and we are out of there in seconds. “Are you some kind of celebrity, ma’am?”
I sob some more in the back of the cab, finally feeling impervious to Ashton and the whole situation I just endured. “No, I’m not a celebrity. I’m just a nobody.”
I can see the cab driver look at me in the rear view mirror and study my appearance. “Well, if it is any consolation, I think you are the prettiest celebrity I’ve ever had in my cab,” he compliments me with his thick Bostonian accent.
I sniffle and giggle slightly. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”
“It’s just the truth,” he smiles at me from the rear view mirror and continues driving me to safety, without saying another word. I respect the fact that he isn’t making any moves nor continuing to talk to me. Typically, cabbies want to tell you their life stories and they don’t shut up until they take you to your destination, pay and exit the car. This guy has manners and I respect that. Plus, I need the silence right now and I think he can tell; at least some men in this city know how to respect a woman and her needs.
It feels like eons pass before the cab driver pulls up to the front of my building. Finally, I can run and duck for cover in the sanctuary that I call home, where no one can hurt me and where I am alone. I toss him a $20 through the protective glass barrier and fly out of the cab, inherently running to the comfort of my bed. Just like when I was a kid, I feel like the blankets will act as a shield and as long as I’m tucked away underneath them, I will be fine and no one will hurt me.
As I’m fleeing up the stairs to my refuge, a call comes through on my cell phone and it is Ashton. I silence the call and continue hiking up the seven flights of stairs, heaving and hawing the whole way. I can feel the blood pulse through my veins and the rate of tears flowing down my cheeks are intensifying with each step I take. I’m openly sobbing, maybe for the first time in years; maybe for the first time since my dad passed away. Even when Dan broke my heart into
smithereens, I was able to recover from that. I saw a light at the end of the tunnel and finally, I felt free from the hold that he had on me. Now, I didn’t know what was going to bring me a feeling of mercy. By this point in the night, I knew my mug was going to be smeared all over the gossip world and that I would be hearing about it from Jane at any moment. It’s hard enough going through this much anxiety on your own, let alone with the whole world watching. I’m usually one who is able to keep my sentiments hushed and to myself but I just couldn’t stomach it tonight. It was like verbal diarrhea and I had no choice in the matter. I was fuming standing there next to Ashton while Samantha hung off of him like he was her property. I knew he wanted to apologize to me for what he never said in that interview but I was not going to give him the opportunity. If I really did end up meaning something to him, he could come chase after me. You always chase after the girl and you never let her slip between your fingertips because you may not get her back, at least that is what every great romance novel I found my nose in taught me. We are like needles in the haystack and if a man cannot realize that, you can’t wait around and let him figure it out because you might miss out on an extraordinary connection with someone else.
At last, I’m in my apartment and I slam the door behind me, allowing my back to press against the oak door, acting as my backbone holding me together into one piece. The instant is cut short because my emotions take over and prove to be stronger than anything else. I crumple to the floor, like a marionette whose master has let her go and my limbs sprawl all over the cold hardwood. I can feel my heart throb in my chest and my eyes feel raw, despite the influx of tears that flow rapidly. I feel like a modern day Cinderella, whose prince just let her go and instead, deciding to go with the princess everyone wanted him to be with in the first place. I feel unwanted. I feel completely and utterly abandoned and continue crying on the floor until my body becomes so weak and worn, that I fall asleep.