Selfie

by Leslie Johnson

  It was half past six in the evening when I practically crawled into my apartment. Stacy and Wally were on the sofa, both naked and making lots of noises. Wally’s head appeared to be glued between her legs.

  “Roe!” Stacy shouted in surprise, shoving her boyfriend off with her feet. She threw a cushion at Wally, who smirked and placed it strategically over his cock. He winked at me as I dragged my tired self to the kitchen.

  “Where’s Lorenzo?” I asked once I had quenched my thirst.

  The two naked lovebirds glanced at each other. “He left about forty minutes ago,” Stacy replied. “Said he had to visit a client.”

  An unholy howl erupted from my throat. “He’s fucking my boss!” I shrieked. “Do you know what that means? I have to read graphic details about his sexual escapades. Those gross images will be burned into my head!”

  “A bit of a problem, that,” Wally agreed, rubbing his scruffy chin. “What if you develop sexual fantasies about him?”

  That was preposterous. But not entirely impossible. Especially if Helen portrayed him in a way that made him far more dashing than he actually was.

  I plopped down on a chair, giving Wally the evil eye. “Why are you still here? You can go back to the penthouse, you know. The whole shitstorm with Roxy is over.”

  He stood up, holding the cushion firmly against his crotch. “Is it?” he asked, striding confidently toward the fridge as he showed off his round, muscular butt. “If I know Roxy, the shitstorm is not over. You can trust me on that, mate.” Throwing his head back, he began chugging from a carton of orange juice.

  Stacy’s eyes smouldered with desire before she turned to face me. “Listen, Roe, maybe you should just stay at the penthouse.”

  I shot her a betrayed look. “So you and Wally can have the apartment?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, Lorenzo’s busy with his new client, and the past few days have been fun for Wally and me.”

  “All right, I’ll stay at the penthouse. But only on one condition.” I pointed an accusing finger at Wally’s crotch. “You make sure to burn that damn cushion, got it?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll even buy a new set of pillows just to put your mind at ease.”

  Satisfied that something good would come of this, I trudged into my bedroom to pack a bag for my temporary move.

  The penthouse was filled with models, aspiring actors, agents, and a host of other industry people unknown to me. Grandma, Stacy, and I sat on the sofa, sipping our wine and observing the scene before us.

  “So tell me why Roxy is having this party at the penthouse.” Stacy chewed on a cucumber sandwich, then tossed it away in disgust. “Ugh. Tastes like cardboard.”

  “Because it’s a nice place,” I said, shrugging. In a corner of the room, Hunter was surrounded by a gaggle of young wannabe actresses. I contemplated whether I should steal him away for a little bit.

  “Where’s Waldo?” Grandma demanded. “I haven’t spoken to that boy in days.”

  “I’m here, Dot,” he said from behind, bending down to kiss her rouged cheek. “Miss me, love?”

  She sniffed. “You be good to me, Waldo. Or else I’m telling Betty all about it.”

  Grinning, he sat down between his two favorite girls – Stacy and Grandma – and presented a heaping plate of goodies that were obviously not from Roxy’s buffet table.

  “This party is so fake and boring,” he complained, handing a mini sausage roll to Grandma. “I mean, why the fuck are they serving rabbit food?” After doling out the rolls to Stacy and me, he encouraged us to dip them in a small bowl filled with tomato sauce.

  Stacy seemed to enjoy her sausage roll. “They’re models,” she explained, wiping the crumbly flakes from her lips. “They’re not really supposed to eat, are they?”

  “But plenty do,” I said, playing devil’s advocate. “I’ve seen some of them scarfing down hamburgers and pizzas.”

  “Yeah, and then their agent will say, ‘Tiffany, darling, you’re fabulous, you really are. But let’s lose that puppy fat, shall we? And try to cut down to one meal a day.’ You can’t blame young girls for developing eating disorders when they keep hearing shit like that.” Angry, Stacy stuffed the remainder of her sausage roll into her mouth.

  Her outburst made me wonder what she’d heard during her previous auditions.

  Just then, Hunter came over and plopped down beside me. “We should all get the bloody hell out of here,” he muttered, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “I’m going nuts.”

  Wally perked up. “Oi, mate, why don’t we sneak down to Diggory’s Pub and get some actual food –”

  “Hello, Rosemary. Can you spare me a moment of your time?” It was Roxy, all fake smiles and glowing tanned skin as she sashayed toward us. Her timing was suspiciously impeccable.

  Standing up, I returned her smile. “I’m sorry, but we should get going –”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. I wanted to introduce a friend of mine who’s here for a short visit.” Roxy paused, a faint smile on her ruby-red lips. “He’s an editor at a big publishing house in New York. I thought you might be interested in meeting him.”

  She had obviously done her research on me. I bit my lip, torn about what I should do. Like Wally had said, this shitstorm with Roxy was not over. She was surely up to no good. On the other hand, this was an opportunity I simply couldn’t miss. What if it turned out to be my lucky break?

  “Possum, go meet him,” Grandma said gently, shooing me away. But my gaze landed on Hunter. The expression on his face told me everything I needed to know.

  You don’t want me to meet him, do you?

  Which was so unfair. I mean, here he was, still keeping Roxy around even after everything she had done. But he didn’t want me to meet a guy who could potentially ask to see one of my finished manuscripts?

  “I think I’ll do that,” I said, my gaze still on Hunter. He narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say anything.

  Wally remained oblivious to the sudden shift in the air. “Then you can stay behind,” he said cheerfully. “The rest of us are going to Diggory’s for some fish and chips.” He paused to nudge Hunter’s shoulder. “Mate, you’re coming with us, right?”

  “Right.” Hunter echoed, rising to his feet. He didn’t spare me another glance as he helped Grandma into her wheelchair and pushed her out the door. Wally immediately followed behind, but Stacy lingered back to give me an encouraging smile.

  “I don’t think he realizes how much this means to you.” She murmured into my ear. “Don’t worry too much about Hunter, though. Just give this editor the best pitch of your life.” After squeezing my arm, she left to go join the others.

  Meanwhile, Roxy had been standing there watching the entire exchange. “I’ve forgotten how jealous he can get,” she said, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow at me. I shot her an indifferent glance. I wasn’t going to fall for the bait and ask how she knew he was the jealous type. But it rattled me to see this new side of him.

  “So what’s your friend’s name?” I asked as we walked toward a tall, brown-haired man wearing an expensive navy-colored suit. He was talking to a beautiful model.

  “His name is Eric Steinberg,” Roxy said, examining her manicured fingernails. “Ever heard of Wyman and Steinberg Publishing?”

  My heart began racing. Of course I had. From my understanding, most aspiring novelists dreamed of signing up with them. Not only did they offer decent advances, but they had a reputation for propelling previously unknown writers into literary stardom.

  Don’t screw this up.

  “Darling, this is Rosemary Thornton, the young writer I was talking about,” Roxy said, placing a hand on her friend’s shoulder. Eric Steinberg turned around, his blue eyes cool and distant. When he noticed me standing there, he offered me a polite smile.

  Don’t fucking screw this up!

  I shook his hand nervously as Roxy left us alone to talk. Mr. Steinberg excused himself from the model, then suggested that we go out into t
he balcony for some fresh air, which I agreed to readily. The two of us stood there above the bright lights of L.A., studying each other as we leisurely sipped from our wine glasses.

  “So Roxy tells me you’re a writer,” he said finally, breaking the silence.

  I smiled. “I’m working on it. You and Roxy must be very good friends.”

  “We attended the same preparatory school. Then I went off to Yale, and now, we only contact each other when either one needs a favor.” A deprecating smile crept onto his face. “At best, we’re acquaintances.”

  Had she asked him to meet me as a favor? And if so, why? What the hell was she planning?

  “I love your Australian accent. Do you have a boyfriend, Rosemary Thornton?”

  I decided to answer his question even though it had nothing to do with writing. “As a matter of fact, I do. His name is Hunter Cox.” I chuckled and glanced around. “In fact, this penthouse belongs to him and his friend.” Technically, they were renting it, but I didn’t want to get into all the details.

  He nodded slowly. “Ah, yes, Hunter Cox. I don’t normally say this about other males, but he’s a very handsome man.”

  “He is,” I agreed, feeling unabashedly proud. “And he’s got the personality to boot as well.”

  “Lovely.” There was something almost disdainful about the way he said it.

  This time, an uncomfortable silence fell between us. I felt helpless, my insides a twisted bundle of nerves.

  Mr. Steinberg blew out a weary sigh. “Email the first few chapters of your best novel to me. Here’s my business card.” And he handed me a flashy embossed card containing his name, position as senior editor at Wyman and Steinberg, and contact info.

  “Oh, thank you! I’ll send it first thing tomorrow morning –”

  “Tomorrow morning?” he repeated, surprised. “No, send it to me now. I plan on reading it on my tablet when I return to the hotel.”

  “Okay, s-sure thing,” I stuttered, pulling out my phone and going through my cloud files. I accidentally sent the entire file instead of the first few chapters he’d requested.

  He’s going to think I’m such an idiot, I thought in dismay.

  Mr. Steinberg left not long after that. Feeling sick to my stomach, I decided to numb my nerves by gulping down an entire bottle of white wine in Hunter’s bedroom. I had fucked up my one chance of becoming a professional novelist. I was doomed to be Helen Archer’s work slave for the rest of my pathetic life.

  Drunk and tired, I fell fast asleep and didn’t even know when the party ended. I only awoke in the middle of the night once to open my legs when Hunter whispered how much he loved me and thrust himself into my throbbing core.

  Chapter 17

  The next few days were a flurry of activities and shopping as Grandma prepared to leave Los Angeles. I didn’t want her to go, but she had responsibilities and other commitments waiting for her back home. And so with a heavy heart, I helped her pack her bags and made sure she had plenty of souvenirs to take back to her friends.

  After Wally and Stacy said their goodbyes at the penthouse, Hunter and I drove Grandma to LAX, had lunch with her at one of the airport restaurants, and then sat with her before her departure.

  Grandma clutched Fluffy Poo tightly on her lap, watching me as I wiped at my tear-stained eyes. “Don’t cry, possum,” she said in a reassuring tone. “I’m not dead yet.”

  I laughed and hugged her. “As I told you a long time ago, you’re practically immortal.”

  Grandma glared at Hunter over my shoulder. “You be good to her now.”

  “I’ll take care of her, Dorothy,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “I give you my word.”

  “Hmph.” She still looked suspicious, but turned her attention back to me. “Now, listen. Don’t be too upset about that editor not contacting you. You’ll get plenty of chances later. Just wait and see.”

  I gave her a forced, cheerful smile. “Thanks, Grandma. Be sure to say hi to Mum and Dad for me, all right? Tell them I miss them.”

  “Tell them yourself, you ungrateful scamp.” She scolded me. “When was the last time you called your poor parents?”

  “Uh, ten days ago?”

  “Heathen. Make sure to call them tonight.”

  “Will do.” I started tearing up again. “Have a safe trip, all right? And don’t harass the flight attendants just because they run out of chicken in their food trolleys.”

  “At my age, possum, I can do whatever the hell I want. That’s one of the perks of entering one’s golden years.” After blowing me a kiss, she wheeled through the departure gate with an airport personnel who had been patiently waiting for her to say her goodbyes.

  I was already starting to miss her. For a fleeting moment, the most terrible homesickness flooded through me, and I wondered what the heck I was doing in L.A. It wasn’t like I had such a fantastic career that was keeping me here, anyway.

  Maybe it’s time for me to go home for good.

  “Hey, you all right?” Hunter wrapped his arms around me, resting his chin on top of my head.

  It took me a while to find my voice. “Yes. Just feeling a little sad, that’s all.”

  His hands reached down to squeeze my arse. “How about we go home and try to fix that?” he murmured, causing my skin to tingle with anticipation.

  Before I could reply, my phone buzzed in my jean pocket. “I’d better take this,” I said, sighing with annoyance. My annoyance quickly shifted to shock when I saw the number on my phone screen.

  It was Eric Steinberg.

  “Someone you know?” Hunter asked curiously.

  “It’s the editor from Wyman and Steinberg,” I whispered, suddenly afraid. What if it was a courtesy call to say he wasn’t interested in my manuscript? What if he ridiculed it and said I was wasting my time?

  The buzzing stopped. Eric had ended the call.

  What. The. Fuck. Have. I. Done?

  Immediately, a little tune followed, signaling the arrival of a text message. Letting out a breath of gratitude, I clicked on the message and began reading.

  –Finally finished the 145,500-word manuscript this morning. Absolutely loved it! Call me. Eric Steinberg

  “He loved it,” I muttered, numb with disbelief as I glanced up at Hunter. A slow grin spread across my face as the reality of it finally registered. “He said he loved it!”

  Hunter caught me as I jumped into his arms and laughed like a maniac. Eric Steinberg wanted my book. I was going to become a professional novelist.

  I was going to be fricking published by Wyman and Steinberg!

  It took me twenty minutes to calm down. When we reached Hunter’s Jeep, I called Eric’s number. To my chagrin, my stomach started doing crazy somersaults again.

  “Eric Steinberg speaking.” His voice was dispassionate and business-like.

  “Hello, Mr. Steinberg, it’s Rosemary Thornton. You left me a text message asking me to call you back . . .”

  “Yes, of course! I’m glad you called, Rosemary. Listen, I’m afraid I can’t talk right now, but can you make time tonight? Say around eight?”

  “Um, sure.” I would have to cancel my dinner date with Hunter. “Where should I meet you?”

  Eric chuckled. “You choose. Los Angeles is your city, after all.”

  I suggested a popular trattoria close to my apartment. No doubt he was used to places like Rao’s, but I wanted to be in a cozy eatery where the focus would be on good, inexpensive food and a relaxed ambience.

  He agreed to meet me there at eight before ending the call.

  Hunter shot me a sideways glance from the driver’s seat. “You’re meeting him?”

  “I am, yes,” I said, feeling bad. “Can we go out tomorrow instead?” Leaning closer, I reached down and gently squeezed the noticeable bulge in his pants. “I promise to make it up to you.”

  His jaw ticked, a sure sign that he was unhappy. “What time?”

  “I’m meeting Eric at eight o’clock.”

>   “We have slightly over four hours left, then.” He pressed down on the gas pedal, weaving through traffic in angry silence and reaching home in record time.

  As soon as we stepped into the penthouse, Hunter pushed me against the wall, devouring my mouth as he ground his hips against me. He tore my blouse open, sending the buttons scattering wildly across the floor. I quickly made a small sound of protest and tore my mouth away from his demanding kisses.

  “Hunter.” I gasped, closing my eyes as he pushed my bra upwards. Whatever I wanted to say died on my lips when he bent lower and sucked on my breasts, teasing the tip of his experienced tongue over my taut nipples. I drew in a shuddering breath as he went even lower, his hands pushing up my skirt along the way.

  Staring up at me, he slowly pulled my panties down my legs. “Put your foot on my shoulder.” He ordered. “I want to see your pussy all wet and open for me.”

  Unable to speak, I bent the knee and balanced my right foot on his broad shoulder, feeling completely exposed. Hunter’s face was mere inches from my throbbing pussy, the warm afternoon light revealing everything to him.

  “You’re so fucking pretty.” He murmured, in between stroking my clit with his tongue. “So pink and soft.” My hips bucked forward as he swiped his tongue through my folds in an upwards motion, his hands spreading my thighs even further apart. He was eating my pussy like it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted, and that sent me tumbling down a steep cliff. I screamed helplessly as he pushed his tongue inside me, causing a strong current of spasms to rock my body. To prevent me from pitching forward, Hunter pressed an arm across my stomach as he continued to taste and lap at my aching pussy.

  “I need you inside me now,” I pleaded, grappling at his shoulders. “Hunter, please, I have to feel you.”

  But I didn’t expect him to do what he did next.

  He pulled me away from the wall and stripped off all my clothes. Once I was stark naked, he led me to the floor-to-ceiling glass window and made me face the glass. I watched his faint reflection as he tossed his clothes onto the floor. Then he joined me, pressing his body against mine and pushing me up against the glass.