by C. D. Reiss
Margie brushed her skirt down and composed herself, which meant, in Drazen parlance, that she was about to unleash a torrent of The Truth According To Margaret, and nothing could stop her, not a word, gesture, or forward tackle.
“I’m fine with being dismissed like a child, and I’m fine with you not taking my advice. I can walk out of here without a problem. But when the last asshole did things I don’t even want to talk about, I was the first one you called. And I was the one who stood by you for the whole thing.” She slashed the air with the flat of her hand, the gesture filling in for words like bawling, suicidal depression, the inability to move, long bouts of self-doubt, reproach, and loathing. She’d been with me for every minute of it, and with that karate chop, I relived it.
“And I want you to know,” she continued without pausing, though my brain had hitched, “that the next time you call me because you’re in over your head, and you can’t handle what’s happening, I will pick up the phone, and I’ll be there for you again. And I won’t even say ‘I told you so.’”
“Thank you,” I said, because there was nothing else in my vocabulary for that speech. She tilted her head down and left, with Will close at her heels. He and Antonio nodded to each other. I shut the door softly then pressed my back to it.
Antonio’s face betrayed nothing but perfection. I felt cornered by his beauty, soothed to inaction. I slid away so I could think.
“We have to talk,” I said. “And you’re keeping your pants on for the entire thing.”
“You’re going to talk,” he said, holding up a finger and stepping so close our bodies shared the same heat. “And I’m going to keep my pants on.”
He leaned forward until I took a step backward, and in the second of slight imbalance, he grabbed my shoulders, directing me into the chair behind me. I didn’t know what to ask first. He looked down at me with a fully visible erection, and the whole pants-on rule seemed really badly thought out. “You’re going to take these pants off. Then you’re going to spread your legs so I can see everything, and you’re going to tell me what they said to you.”
“Why do you need me vulnerable to hear this? Don’t you trust me?”
“I don’t need you vulnerable,” he said, leaning down and hooking his fingers in my waistband. “I need you accessible.”
“I’m going to tell you everything. You know that already.”
“Then it’s only right you should enjoy it.”
He yanked my pants down. They were loose, silk things and came off easily, taking my underpants with them. I tried to get up just to prove a point, but he pushed me against the chair. “Spread your legs, Contessa.”
I didn’t. He pushed me down with his right hand and took my knee in the other, wrapping his fingers around it easily and yanking it to the side. I gasped as the rush of fluids drenched me. He slid his hand down my chest and kneeled in front of me.
“Your sister is an honest woman,” he said, kissing my mound and working his way down. “So it’s not important what she said, only what she thinks.”
His tongue, honed to a point, slid down, parting my skin. The invasion was delicate and sweet, warm on warm, wet to wet, and I melted into the chair.
“I don’t care about any of it, Antonio.”
“Really?” He kissed my clit, folding his lips around it, closing them, tightening, sucking just enough, and releasing. “Tell me what you don’t care about.”
“You want a list?”
He licked me harder in response, and I pushed myself into his mouth, running my fingers through his black hair. He awakened a galaxy of burning stars that turned in the universe between my legs.
“She thinks you’re a killer, a criminal. Money laundering, insurance fraud, oh, God, just like that. Keep doing that thing.” He slid a finger into me and rotated it, not saying a word, but with his eyes, he told me to continue.
“You’re going to hurt me,” I gasped as his tongue swirled. “She’s afraid for me.” The burning points of heat and light coalesced into a bright center, and when he moaned, his mouth vibrated against me. I wanted to tell him more, but I couldn’t when the galaxy spun into itself and exploded, my orgasm a black hole of wordless ecstasy.
When I could speak, I said, “Now. Take me now.”
But he was already there, pants down, glorious cock stretching me open, his weight on me the comfort and security I needed. The protection Margie thought I wasn’t getting was him and me together: his thumb in my mouth, his dick owning me, his control and dominance frightening, deadly, and indispensable.
He came with a grunt, and I was right behind him, screaming his name again, tightening my legs around him, bucking as he held me still.
Through the post-orgasmic haze, I could barely hear his soft words in a musical language or feel the light kisses he laid on my cheek and neck.
“Capo,” I whispered.
“Contessa.”
“I wasn’t finished.”
He picked up his head and looked me in the eyes. “You feel finished.”
I laid my hand on his cheek, stroking the short hairs, their resistance pleasing my skin. “I need to finish what I was saying. About Margie.”
“You don’t have to finish.” He sighed and straightened his arms, putting twelve or so inches between us. “She’s more or less got a point. I’m bad for you. And you have a point also.”
“I do?”
“I think I’ve been wrong. I think if I keep you here, trouble will find you. So, get out. Go do… I don’t know. Find your life.”
“Oh, Antonio…” I didn’t know whether to assure him that my life was with him or thank him for coming around to giving me space.
“But please, be safe. Can you do that for me? Until Paulie is calm.”
“What happened to the stupido and his girlfriend?” I asked.
He put his fingers on my lips. “Not now. Just tell me you’ll let Otto take you around.”
I promised. I’d keep as safe as I could.
eight.
theresa
atrina’s post-production rental was on the west side in some in-between neighborhood. The low-slung buildings in a three-block radius had been painted yellowish beige and sprinkled with Spanish roof tiles, black soot, and garish signs in three languages.
Otto walked me to the double glass doors that faced into the parking lot.
“Where will you be?” I asked as we passed into the small reception area.
“I have to check it out. Then I’ll be right here.” With a pinky-less hand, he indicated a leather chair by a plastic plant.
“You can grab a cup of coffee if you want.”
He smiled and nodded, but prior experience told me that he wouldn’t get himself a cup of anything.
The receptionist, a young Hispanic girl with straight hair down her back, said “Which project?”
“The Lion In the Sand?” I said. “I think they’re in edit.”
She checked her computer. “They have a bay on four.”
Otto took me upstairs, and when we left the elevator, I turned to him, saying nothing but giving him a look. He understood and nodded.
“I’ll be here.” He indicated a bank of couches.
“Thank you.”
I went past the double doors alone.
Katrina leaned into the monitor. The overhead lights were dimmed down to nothing, leaving only the four glowing editing-bay monitors to illuminate the trays of half-eaten burgers. The room smelled of men and salty food. Her editor, Robbie, tapped keys. Michael Greenwich’s face, all lion and rage, filled the screen.
“This is the best take,” Robbie said. He motioned to his assistant. “Rob, call up number four.”
Katrina leaned back. “I’ll look, but I think you’re right. TeeDray, what do you think? You marked four as the best.” She tapped my set notes.
“Look at four again. But this is it. I mean, who can tell anything on set?” I shrugged, and Katrina eyed me as if I were lying. She grabbed our Styrofoam boxe
s and went to the door.
“Let’s eat. You look like you could use it.”
The light in the hall was blinding on the white walls. Burgundy doors lined the corridor. Each had a little square, meshed window at eye level, and behind them came the sounds of screaming, music, crashes, whispers, and groans. Editors didn’t understand moderation of volume, and headphones would have given them a headache after twelve hours of chopping up scenes.
Katrina led me to the lounge at the end of the hall, which consisted of plywood boxes covered in grey industrial carpet that matched the floors. No windows. No tables. Dated movie posters. There was a vending machine that reminded me of Antonio and, in front of it, a brown-splat stain that would never come out, no matter how hard they shampooed.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Katrina flipped open the Styrofoam box and shoved my well-done burger toward me, pushing it against my thigh. I moved so she would have room to open hers. Her burger would be rare. She liked it squealing as it went down.
It had been a week since I’d seen her. I hadn’t answered any texts but had left a voice message when Antonio told me it was safe for her to come home. I believed him, because he knew his business.
“Well?” she said with a mouthful of fries.
“I don’t know where to start.” My fries looked like a bundle of Jack Straws. I tried to pick one up without disturbing any of the others and failed.
“Throw the first scene out,” Katrina said. “Always.”
“I’m in love with Antonio.”
“That was fast.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“But?”
I looked up at the walls to think for a second and was hit with a poster for Good Fellas. I laughed to myself. Even in that bland, windowless room, he hung over me. “I understand him. It’s weird. There’s this connection. I get what he’s saying, and I know what keeps him up at night. It sounds crazy, but I know what’s in his heart.”
“That sounds pretty good.”
“It’s different. With Daniel, I knew what was in his mind. I knew what he was thinking; I just didn’t know what he was feeling. Obviously, or that whole Clarice thing wouldn’t have gotten past me.” I brought my burger to my lips and bit it. It tasted like every other well-done burger. The texture was grey and leathery. Flat. Boiled dry. Katrina’s burger dripped when she bit into it. “With Antonio, I’m alive when he’s there. It’s chemical. My blood goes crazy.”
“Wow.”
I shrugged. “Yeah.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Tee. What’s the problem? Speak. You’re boring me.”
“It’s complicated.”
She chewed slowly then took a pull of her soda. “I’m waiting.”
“How is the edit coming?”
“Fine. I think I got most everything. Michael’s in Montana doing a spelunking movie, so if I need pickups, I’m screwed. Why don’t you tell me why it’s so complicated?”
“It just is.”
“Oh, for the love of God. He’s in the mob. Just say it.”
“Katrina!” I said.
“Please, sister. I wasn’t born yesterday. One, he was having you followed by that guy with no pinkies. Two, it’s all over the news that shit’s going down. Your ex is taking out the flamethrowers and threatening the biggest prosecution since Robert Kennedy in like, the sixties. Which I’d blow off, except I met Antonio and yes, he’s hot, but also… he’s got a whole connected thing happening. Three, you disappeared in a poof after the wrap party.”
“I did not.”
“You talk on the phone and don’t tell me where you are. Have you even been to the apartment?”
I put my burger down. “Antonio is a businessman. His office was burned down. His partner split and took half his team. He’s rebuilding, and I’m there for him.”
“Uh-huh. Fine. And what else?”
“What do you mean?”
“You have no job. You’re not talking to me.” She leaned forward. “A lot of fucking, huh?”
I pulled out a fry and it rubbed against another. Five more shifted in the container. “There is sex.” I bent the fry against my tongue and folded it into my mouth. “And it is life altering.”
She smiled and raised her eyebrows, delighted for me. I couldn’t tell her about my ennui, or the level of protection Antonio felt he needed to build around me. I couldn’t tell her that, from the outside, he deserved every indecent name I called him during sex and that it turned me on. How far he would go, his life on the fringes, the unknowns about him, and even his insistence that I bend to the will of an outlaw turned me on. And I feared that, without those hours of languor in between our meetings, the desire for him to dig out the aching filth inside me would disappear. And I needed it. I needed him to treat me like a rag doll while I called him an animal. I needed to see that animal turn pure, to feel him slowly get gentle, to hear his growls subdued into whispers. Thinking about it in that little room, under a Good Fellas poster, melted my legs into a pool of lust.
“Have you considered this might be a rebound thing? From Daniel?”
“Sure,” I said. “I’ve considered it then dismissed it. If rebound things always felt like this, they’d last longer.”
My phone dinged.
—downstairs in 10 minutes—
—I’m busy—
I didn’t know why I bothered. I was done with Katrina. She was busy; she had a life, dreams, and work. I had appointments.
“Is it him?” she asked, poking at her own phone.
“Yeah.”
—Eleven minutes. No more—
—Say please—
—Per favore, Contessa bella—
—Flattery is unnecessary—
—So are your clothes—
“What are you smiling about?” Katrina asked, flopping down the lid of her Styrofoam box.
“Not this burger.” I closed mine. “You don’t need me for anything, do you?”
“Just stay in touch. Your notes get a little scribbly toward the end.”
nine.
theresa
he Maserati came down Cahuenga and parked in front. Otto’s Lincoln must have been dismissed because it was nowhere in sight.
The top was down, and Antonio was in aviators and snug jeans, his boots making a clup-clup on the pavement as he came around to open the door for me. “Contessa,” he said.
“Capo.”
“How was your afternoon out?”
“Thrilling.” I sat down, and he closed the door behind me. When he got behind the wheel I asked, “Short notice to give a girl.”
“Ten minutes is enough time to get down the stairs.”
“Maybe I was busy.”
“Were you?” He put the car into drive and twisted to see behind him before pulling out. His leather jacket stretched between his shoulder blades.
“Hardly the point,” I huffed.
“Exactly the point.” He pulled into the street and headed south with the wind in his hair, the sun on his glasses, and his skin a rich olive color. When he smiled at me, I forgot the point entirely.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Back to the east side.”
“You won’t give up over there, will you?”
“It’s mine. I never give up what’s mine.” He turned to me for a second. “Ever.”
“So, if you kept that territory, where did Paulie go?”
He smirked, eyes on the road. I wasn’t supposed to ask questions, but if he expected me to stick to that, he was sorely mistaken.
“Is he a businessman without a business?” I used air quotes.
“There is nothing more dangerous than a man who has lost everything fighting something he fears.”
“What does he fear?”
Antonio pulled onto the 10 freeway. My hair went nuts, spiraling like cotton candy in the wind. He put his fingers on my thigh, pushing my skirt up. I put my hand on it as he moved it deeper, grasping the flesh.
“Tell me,”
I said.
“Your legs are closed.”
“I’m in a convertible on the 10.”
“Open them. Adesso. I want to feel if you’re wet.”
“Antonio, really.” A big rig came up on the right. If the trucker had been looking out his side window, he would have had a clear view.
“Pull your skirt down over my hand and spread your legs. One knee touching the door. All the way. Don’t argue, or I’m going to pull over and spank you for every trucker on the freeway to see.”
I was wet. I had to be. I pulled my skirt over his hand and put my bag on my lap. He grabbed his jacket from the back and put it over the bag.
“Good enough,” he said. “Open up.”
I spread my legs. The city streaked by in swashes of grey, blots of billboard colors, and flecks of palm-tree green. The only constant was the flawless umbrella of blue sky.
“You didn’t answer the question,” I said. He changed lanes, blinker and all, and slipped his hand under the crotch of my panties.
“Dio mio, you are soaked. What were you thinking about?”
He rubbed my clit gently, one stroke along the length.
“Paulie’s business.” I opened my legs wider.
“Really?” He leaned back and draped his left wrist over the wheel while drawing sticky circles around my opening with his right middle finger.
“No.”
“Tell me.”
“I was thinking about your mouth.”
“Bene. What about it?” A BMW came up close on the right, and I ignored it. If I looked at them, they’d look back. The car was red, and I was throbbing.
“Your lips,” I gasped. “Between my legs.” He moved so slowly I thought I’d explode from the rush of blood.
“More.”
“Kissing me. Sucking. God, Jesus Antonio. How can you drive and do this?” I could barely see past the nest of hair whipping around my face, but I saw his smirk clearly.
“The left hand doesn’t know what the right is doing.” He grasped my clit between his thumb and forefinger, changing lanes again so he could blow the speed limit that much better.