by K. M. Scott
I imagine what she looks like since all I know about her is how she sounds while Ian was inside her. I hate the fact that all I know about her is something so intimate yet I don’t even know her name or what color hair she has. In my mind’s eye, I see her as a blond. Yes, she must be a blond so she can be different from me. No, a fake, platinum blond so she’s the opposite of what I look like. And she has beady little eyes and mascara that clumps on her skimpy eyelashes.
Is her hair long like mine? Did he bury his hands in her hair as they made love and tug, sending a mix of pain and pleasure down her spine like he does when he pulls my hair? Did she enjoy it like I do, or did she tell him to stop hurting her?
Quickly, my mind spirals out of control with images of them together. His eyes staring into hers as he enters her, their darkness seeming to fill his entire eyes as passion takes him over. His lips kissing her neck and breasts as he murmurs the sexiest, dirtiest thoughts he has. His hands sliding down her side and grabbing her hips as he pumps his cock into her.
Shaking my head, I struggle to push the images out of my mind. No! I can’t think like this. I can’t let my insecurities overrun me until all that’s left of what I have with him is petty jealousy. I left him. Left him with no explanation. I did this to us. If I wanted Ian to be mine, I had to accept my responsibility for him ending up with another woman. If I wanted us to work out, I had to face my fears and self-doubts.
I had to stop running away.
The cab stops in front of Joanne’s building, and as I hop out onto the sidewalk, I take a deep breath to clear my head. I can be the woman Ian thinks I am, the sensual woman he professed his love to and wrote that beautiful story for. All I need to do is believe in myself. He loves me, and I love him.
Now to deal with my publicist.
Joanne Jenkins has been my publicist since I began in this business, and in all the time I’ve known her, her office hasn’t changed. It’s still that tiny white box with walls cluttered from too many framed clippings in newspapers and magazines. The rest of the world may be online, but not her. For Joanne, life still revolves around getting mentioned in gossip columns people can hold in their hands and stuff into their briefcases and purses.
Her assistant sits outside her office at an old desk that reminds me of the kind the woman at the DMV in my hometown in Indiana sat at the day I went in to take my driving test. Metal and tan, it makes a hollow noise every time her knees bang into it. Charlene is a lovely person, but I can’t imagine how someone so jittery can work with another so hyper person such as Joanne. It’s almost as if they create too much energy for the tiny space they occupy.
A pretty woman with a round face, Charlene has the kind of blond hair I imagined a few minutes ago for the woman Ian had sex with, and I find it hard not to frown as I approach her today. She sees me and with her usual perkiness says, “Kristina, it’s so wonderful to see you! Joanne will be just a few minutes, so please take a seat. How is everything going?”
I look around at the chairs near her desk and choose the one farthest away. “Fine. Everything’s fine.”
“That’s great! Let me buzz Joanne and see what’s holding her up.”
I want to say it hasn’t even been thirty seconds since she told me she’d be a few minutes, but I don’t, instead choosing to just smile. Joanne answers her in a sharp tone unmistakable over the loudspeaker and before Charlene can begin to talk me up again, my publicist appears in her doorway waving her hand to beckon me in.
She ushers me into her tiny office and begins talking before I can even sit down in front of her desk. Excited about some gossip concerning another actress, she rambles on and I catch bits and pieces as I try to get my bearings. I’ve spent so much time with Ian recently that I’ve gotten used to the calmness he projects. Between Charlene and Joanne, I feel like I’m being assaulted on all sides. I don’t know how much my psyche can take of them today.
“So I wanted to talk to you about Vancouver. Have you heard anything yet? What do you think?” she asks in Gatling gun fashion.
Shaking my head, I say, “No, not yet. I hope to hear something this week, though.”
Joanne flips her hand through her brunette bob and pops a stick of gum into her mouth. “Okay, well when you hear anything, we need to promote the hell out of this. You’ve been entirely too quiet lately, and I don’t like that. I want the press to be dying to get at you.”
“I’ve just been taking some down time, Joanne. The public understands that.”
“The public understands nothing but what we feed them, Kristina. I thought you knew that. If we tell them you’ve been sick, we’ll get sympathy. If we tell them you just needed time off, we’ll get resentment at the idea that an actress needs time off. They don’t understand that becoming an entirely different person for their amusement is hard work.”
“I think you might just see the glass half empty,” I say, half-joking and half-serious.
“Call me Machiavellian, but I understand the public, honey. I’ve been doing this since you were an innocent baby out there in the Midwest. Do you remember Eliza Gibson?”
Quickly, I try to remember hearing that name somewhere, but I can think of nothing. “No. Who’s she?”
“She was an actress who decided that her career shouldn’t dictate her entire existence. Foolish girl! I warned her. I told her the public has a very short attention span and even shorter memory. I told her they’d forget her if she didn’t tend to her career like a careful gardener tends to his garden. She wouldn’t listen. She needed some time off to get her head together or some bullshit like that. And before she knew it, she was yesterday’s news and there was nothing I could do to fix that.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. Some down time between projects and Joanne already thinks I’m on my way to becoming a has-been. “It’s not the same, and you know it.”
Her arms flail out to the sides of her head. “What I know is my job, and my job is to keep you front and center so Middle America doesn’t forget you.”
“What would you have me do? It’s only been a few months. I can’t help it that I’m not a drug addict or alcoholic in and out of rehab every other month.”
Joanne leans forward and sighs. “I wish we could have gotten more mileage out of that John Stinson business.”
Her mention of my public humiliation and being left brokenhearted as if it was something good makes me cringe. Looking down toward my lap, I say in a low voice, “Sorry my misery didn’t last long enough for you.”
“Well, whatever it was for you privately, it was a boon professionally. The public loves a tragic story, and that son of a bitch served us up one on a silver platter. You should thank him for that, dear.”
“I’ll make sure to do that the next time I see him with the woman he dumped me for,” I mumble.
“Cheer up! Men are a dime a dozen in this world. Just look at me. I’ve been married three times. Divorced three times too, but the possibility of number four is always right around the corner. As long as someone like you picks men who can help her when it ends, that’s all that matters.”
My publicist continues to talk about the sad ending of my relationship with John, but I tune her out, preferring to think about how happy I am with Ian. As different from that bastard as night from day, he’s thoughtful and sensual. John was just a good looking stud who never cared about anything but getting laid and moving up the ladder of success.
I wish I could tell her about Ian to prove to her I’m not some pathetic mess who needs to be torn apart to stay interesting to the movie-going public. My relationship with Ian makes me happy and proud, but I know the dangers of letting the world know about us. He can’t afford that, even if it would help me.
“So I want you to let me know the minute you hear anything about the part. I want to get the news out there and blanket the media with it. You’re on the verge of becoming a huge movie star, Kristina. We don’t want to lose a minute of the spotlight.”
“I will. Don
’t worry.”
I get up to leave, exhausted and on the verge of feeling like shit after our meeting, but she stops me and almost as an afterthought says, “And if you get together with anyone, make sure he’s famous, would you? It would make a world of difference. Too many stars are hooking up with nobodies these days, and I can’t tell you how hard it is to spin gold out of something like that.”
“Thanks, Joanne. I’ll keep that in mind as I look for love,” I say, my words dripping with sarcasm she seems to miss entirely.
“Good, good, good. Tell Jennie I said hi and to take my calls every so often.”
“I will.”
Happy to be away from the emotional chaos of Joanne and her rapid fire talking, I head over to my agent’s office a few blocks away. A few years younger but in an entirely different league professionally than my publicist, Jennie’s never liked her, and I think I’m beginning to see why. I can totally understand why she’d not want to take her calls.
For Jennie, her place in my professional life is less one of orders and directions and more one of support. That she’s entirely worried I’m going to leave her at any moment for another agent doesn’t lessen how much I like her. And compared to my friends’ agents, she’s a gem.
Her office is only slightly bigger than my publicist’s, but the dimensions have been rendered meaningless because of the way she’s arranged it. The beige walls are practically bare, with just a sparse collection of framed nature photos hanging on them. At first glance, her wooden desk and workstation seem like they’re too big for such a small space, but they’re the only furniture someone sees as they sit there with her because she’s cleverly turned a closet at the back of the room into a walk-in bookcase. So while she works in very much the same size office as Joanne, the effect couldn’t be more different.
Jennie extends her well-manicured hand out to shake mine as I’m shown in to her office. “Kristina, how are you? You look wonderful and completely rested. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working.”
“Thank you. I feel good. I’m ready to go back to work, so I hope you have good news for me.”
Her plum colored lips hitch up at the corners into a gentle smile that goes all the way to her dark green eyes, letting me know she’s genuinely happy to tell me what she has to say. “I do. Your audition blew them away. I knew it would, but they made their decision this morning. They want you, Kristina. The part of Cherise is yours, if you want it.”
This is what I’ve been waiting to hear for weeks. I’d auditioned for the part of Cherise Johnson, a down-on-her-luck prostitute trying to change her life in spite of the man she loves doing everything in his power to keep her under his control and weak, but I’d considered myself a longshot for the part, at best. Bigger names than me had expressed interest in the role, and I worried I looked too Midwest, white bread for it. I’d shown up to the audition in costume, fully ready to show them I was Cherise Johnson, and even though I’d thought it had gone well, I still didn’t feel sure I’d convinced them I could do it.
I believed I could, though, and now that I’d get the chance, I’d show everyone I could do it.
“That’s wonderful, Jennie! I’m so happy,” I said, barely able to contain my giddiness at the news.
“Shooting begins in a few weeks in Vancouver, so get yourself packed and ready to go. They’re sending everything over by courier later today, so once it all gets here, you can sign on the dotted line and the deal with be made. You’re going to be incredible, Kristina. I just know it.”
“I think so too,” I say, not caring for once that I sound like I’m bragging.
“This could be it—the big break you’ve been looking for. This role has everything. You’re really going to get the chance to stretch your limits with this one. You beat out some big names.”
The way she says that makes me think she’s most impressed by that fact. Hilary Swank and Natalie Portman had been the frontrunners the last time I heard, and knowing I got the role instead of them thrills me more than I could say. It seems to thrill Jennie too.
“I know. I can’t believe it now that it’s sunken in.”
“Finally, a role to show them your chops. I’ve been waiting for a role like this for you since you came to me, you know that?”
“Thank you, Jennie. You always believed in me. That means so much to me.”
“You promise when they announce your name for the Oscar you won’t drop me for a flashier agent out there in LA?” she asks, her expression suddenly far more serious than it was a minute ago.
I know this is one of her biggest fears. Since I signed with her, she’s worried almost constantly about me leaving her for another agent. Not that I would. I like her in my professional life. Compared to virtually everyone else who surrounds me, she feels like the calm in the middle of a storm. That’s too important to me to lose.
“I’m not going anywhere, Jen. You’ve stuck with me through minor roles and critics saying I wasn’t living up to the hype and my looks. If this role means doors begin to open for me, I’m going to be going through them with you. I don’t want another agent. They’re all too much like Joanne.”
Jennie makes a noise that sounds like pure disgust at the mention of my publicist. “I know she’s been with you nearly as long as I have, but her vision for you troubles me. She loved the media circus that came from your breakup with John. I can’t tell you how many times she called me to discuss how we could use this to further your career.”
I shrug and try to act nonchalant about the one topic I’d rather not discuss. “Joanne sees things from a different perspective, I guess.”
My agent screws her face into an expression of disgust. “She’s like an ambulance chaser.” Quickly, she holds up her hands and shakes her head. “I’m sorry. That’s not appropriate for me to say. I just didn’t like the glee she seemed to feel at your heartbreak.”
“It’s over now, so it’s all in the past. I’m onto bigger and better things,” I say with a smile, genuinely feeling good.
Jennie levels her gaze on me. “Are we still talking about your career or something else here?”
I want to share how happy I am with Ian, but my promise to him to keep our relationship private echoes in my ears. So I tell a lie, more a sin of omission really. “My career, of course, but I’m feeling really good about my personal life too. I’m over that John mess and ready for a new love.”
“That’s what I love to hear! Just keep that positive attitude and I know things will work out. Now get yourself home and start packing. I’ll give you a call when I get the papers.”
“Okay.” Extending my hand, I shake hers and say, “Thanks so much again, Jennie. I couldn’t have gotten this without your help.”
She takes me into her arms for a hug. “Nonsense. I’m just the messenger. You’re the one they’re dying to work with, so go show them what you got, kid.”
I leave her office feeling like I’m walking on air. This film is my big chance. After years of working hard at my craft and taking roles other actresses saw as beneath them, I finally had the opportunity to break out and show the world what I could do with my talent.
But what about Ian and me? The idea of leaving him for months to go shoot a movie in Vancouver makes me break out in a cold sweat. One week we were apart and he slept with another woman. But that was because I left him, I remind myself.
But I’ll be leaving him now too. He’s become so much a part of my life that imagining it without him scares the hell out of me. What if he doesn’t want to wait for me?
I hurry to his apartment to see him, debating all the way there whether I should tell him my good news or not. I know he’ll be happy for me because he loves me, but it’s so early in the relationship to be apart for so long. He answers his door and I throw my arms around him, already missing the feel of his body next to mine.
“Kristina, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” he asks, not knowing how much my good news is torturing me at that moment.
“I missed you. That’s all.”
Closing the door, he takes me by the hand to the couch and practically beaming says, “I have wonderful news. My publisher agreed to the Marc Antony book, so I need to travel to Rome to research before I begin writing. What do you say to a month in the Eternal City?”
His eyes are wide with excitement as he tells me his good news, and I can’t bring myself to say no, even though I know there’s no way I can take this trip with him and begin work on the film at the same time. As he waits for my answer, I see how much this means to him, so I nod and smile as I tell him I can’t wait for our trip together.
“As soon as I knew I’d be going there again, I looked into making reservations for us. Oh, Kristina, you’re going to love it there. We’ll see the sights and it will be the best trip I’ve ever had to Rome.”
He describes all the plans he’s making, and all I can think is how he included me in them without any prodding from me. No man has ever put me first like this. How am I going to ever tell him I can’t go because of my work?
“And I have another surprise for you. Silk is ready. I’m going to self-publish it tonight or tomorrow. Our story isn’t going to be just ours anymore.”
“What does that mean? Aren’t you going to use a pseudonym?”
“Yes, but as a writer, I know once a story is published, it no longer really stays mine. I have no idea if anyone will want to read it or even be able to find it, but it’s ready.”
I kiss him and swipe a dark stray lock of hair from his forehead. “I know people are going to love it. How couldn’t they? You wrote it.”
“Maybe I’m not a very good writer if it’s not historical fiction,” he says in a voice that makes me think he truly isn’t sure about readers loving our story.
I trace the outline of his lower lip and lean in to gently suck it into my mouth. Giving it a tiny nip, I see the desire in his eyes and let go. “You’re a great writer all the time, Ian, and the story you’ve told in Silk is sensual and erotic. I just know people will love it.”