“Fuck you, man!” I stand up and see everyone’s eyes on me. Searching the room, I can see that I’m gonna have cops dragging me out of here soon if I don’t get out. I search the exits and see Vanessa just as she rushes out the side door.
4|Vanessa
The heavy metal door slams shut behind me and I need to stop for a second and rest my head against it. It feels cool against my burning body as I slump into the chilly steel.
He was watching me.
I saw him look up from where he dropped my bodyguards like a couple of houseflies and almost made me want to face the drama to be back by his side. The way his sweat was glistening over his tight frame and how the bulge in his shorts was practically phosphorescent under the black lights of the club, glowing like the magic wand I need to finally make me cum.
My eyelids spring open as I realize that I have no idea how I’m getting out of here. If what Vince told me was true, the paparazzi have tracked me down to this place and the last thing I need is footage of me running out of a sex club all over TMZ tomorrow. They say there’s no such thing as bad publicity, and maybe they’re right, but I don’t want to risk it. Not when I have the role to make my career, hanging in the balance.
I yank my phone out of my purse and tap the message notification bubble with my finger. My agent is going haywire trying to get a hold of me. She’s blowing up my screen so fast I can’t even read her first message because it keeps scrolling down to her frantic messages.
Fiona: Where ru?!
Fiona: Get ur ass to the car!!
Me: What car?
Fiona: Behind the club, move it, papz is on ur trail.
Me: K
I step out of my heels and pick them up, rushing over the dirty sidewalk still warm from the unrelenting California sun earlier today. I turn the corner to the back alley. It’s creepy and dimly lit. I feel like I’m the dumb girl walking toward the flickering light by the creaking door in the horror movie as I squint and scurry to the waiting black car with tinted windows.
The back door flings open as I approach and Fiona pops her head out and starts yelling at me like we just robbed a bank together. “Get in! Get in! We gotta move, they’re on their way!” She waves her hand toward the car wildly.
I jump inside and slam the door shut behind me. “Okay, I’m in. Let’s go.” I let my shoes drop to the floor and Fiona jerks her frizzy puffball of red hair, that’s mostly escaped its bun, toward the driver and he starts the engine.
“God, here come the human vultures, ready to pick the skin off your bones. Look at these assholes,” she sneers out the back window at the heavy-set men carrying long lens cameras, rounding the corner behind us. “I wish we could drive right over them, do you think anyone would really miss them?” She smiles and picks up her velvet, drawstring bag from the seat between us and rifles through it.
“I can’t imagine anyone would,” I admit and crinkle my nose as she tugs her pack of smokes out from the bag. “Ugh, the only thing worse than someone smoking is someone smoking in a car,” I complain, but I know she doesn’t care. Long before Fiona was my agent she was my friend. We went through college together and both got bit by the acting bug at the same time. After a few bad experiences, she stopped going to auditions and started booking them. By now, she’s heard me give her a million stern lectures about smoking and learned to tune them all out.
“Yeah, yeah, here.” She hits the button on her dark window and opens it a crack, “Better?” The blue-gray puffs whirl around in a lazy game of ring-around-the-rosy, slowly climbing higher until they find their way out to the night sky.
“I guess,” I shrug and decide to give up. I mean, she did just save my ass.
The car veers up around the corner and we slowly make our way up the side of the club. The paparazzi disappear in our dust as the driver stops near the front edge of the building and waits for his chance to merge in with the crazy LA traffic.
“So,” Fiona hauls another long drag off her cigarette and blows it like a small smoke signal out the window, “you gonna explain to me what you were doing at a sex club?” She raises a perfectly painted on eyebrow and I squirm against the seat uncomfortably.
“It’s kind of a long story,” I tuck my hair behind my ear. “How did you get here so fast? How did you know the paparazzi were following me?” I try to change the subject but I can see from her pointed stare that she’s not falling for it.
“I was out with a friend down the street,” she smiles. “And it’s my job to know about those rat-faced bastards,” she takes another drag deep into her lungs. “You can thank me by telling me what the hell you were up to tonight. With Los Angeles traffic, it’s gonna be a long drive, so spill it.”
5|Gabe
I want to sprint across the room, pushing past the crowd, shoving them to the side, in order to force them to make way for me to follow her out that door. I take one look at the two guys that I dropped who are starting to slowly get back off the ground like a couple of drunk and wobbly giants, then I scan the bar and see a couple of bouncers’ ready to take my ass to the back alley and “teach me a lesson” for disrupting everyone’s night. I fight my instincts to go after Vanessa and quickly scoot around the chairs in the seating area. I toss the empty seats behind me as I go, trying to form some kind of roadblock or at least a speed bump to slow down the four guys who all share the same goal, to pound the piss outta me.
I don’t have time to grab my clothes, I beeline for the front door in my form-fitting underwear and run out onto the sidewalk, into a crowd of flashing light bulbs.
Having men snapping pictures of me is disorienting, and I turn around on the street and seem to get lost in the pops of light and the jumbled words they’re yelling at me. My muscles tense and my stomach lurches as my mind instantly takes me back to the desert. Flashes, garbled yelling, the intense feeling of panic that is telling me to get the fuck out of here before I get hurt. It’s all too much.
My eyes blur and sweat drips down my brow as I can feel the uncomfortable seat of the Humvee bouncing against my back again. There’s a huge flash, a bright supernova of light as my ears ring the high-pitched squeal of death and the fire begins to consume the vehicle. We got hit, or we hit an IED, either way it doesn’t matter. The screaming grows louder and I can smell burning flesh as I look over at Corporal Heinkel, he’s slumped over and his arm is severed at the shoulder. I can see the blood pouring down over my eye like I have stuck my head under a red spray of water from a shower head. Fuck! It’s my blood. I need to get out. I need to escape right now but I can barely see the exit through the acrid, black smoke swallowing me whole. If I don’t get out right now, I will burn alive.
“Fuck!” I scream and the Humvee disappears. The group of photographers reappear around me and they look a little frightened as they step backward.
Use your five senses, I remind myself, it’s only a flashback. I stomp my feet on the ground and remind myself that I’m in LA, not Afghanistan. There’s no gritty crunch as my shoes hit the pavement. I breathe in the night air and smell booze, weed and fast food traveling on the breeze. Finally, I force myself to focus my eyes, looking at the crowd of strange men holding cameras in my face like a bunch of tourists on a wildlife safari who just spotted a cheetah. Lucky for me, they have formed a barrier between me and the angry men from the club who are still very eager and willing to kick my ass.
I might not be in danger of losing my life or limbs like I was over in Afghanistan, but I’m not safe right now either. I need to get my ass out of here before it’s either beaten, or arrested.
I turn on my heel and scan the street like a hawk, searching for a quick way out of this whole scene. I spot a cabbie, munching on a burger, with his light off a few cars away. I rush down the sidewalk, ignoring the people who are staring, and grab the back-passenger door handle, flinging it open.
“I’m off duty find someone else!” The cab driver yells angrily from inside. I start to argue with him when I see her. A black car w
ith tinted windows slowly drives past and the bac- window rolls down. It’s Vanessa. She’s watching me. Her fingertips curl slightly as she waves goodbye and she peers out her window as the car keeps moving down the street until they disappear in the heavy traffic.
I give my head a shake and ignore the cabbie’s protests, hopping inside. “Whatever your rate is, keep the meter off and double it. I have got cash at my place, I just need to get out of here, fast!” I nod toward the thugs who are approaching the car.
The cab driver’s eyes grow wide as he checks out the men who look like they’re about to flip his car over in a kind of mob rage.
“Triple it,” his lips form a flatline and my anger boils back up inside me. The fucker knows he’s got me right where he wants me. I hate being taken advantage of like this, but I don’t exactly have a ton of options right now.
“Fine, but I want your fries,” I reluctantly agree.
“Take them,” he practically tosses the red box of French fries with the yellow arches decorating them back at me, and throws the car in drive, pulling away from the curb just as the angry men reach my door.
“Where are you going?” my driver asks, looking back at me in the rearview mirror. If he’s freaked out by some man wearing nothing but underwear running from a group of goons, he’s hiding it extremely well. But, this is Los Angeles, so he’s probably seen a hell of a lot worse.
“To Olive street, it’s in Cudahy,” I manage to direct him as I jam almost all his fries into my mouth. The truth is, I’m not even that hungry, I just hate to lose and making him give them to me felt like a minor win.
“That’s a thirty minute drive from here. It’s triple the rate, right?” His voice is sharp, like if I fuck around he won’t think twice about pulling a tire iron out and doing the job the guys back at the club couldn’t finish.
“You will get your money,” I snap. “Just drive.”
He peers at me one more time in the rearview mirror, like he’s not sure if he wants to keep driving me, but then he shrugs and turns on the radio instead. As an overplayed Top 40 song invades my ears, my mind drifts back to Vanessa and the crazy night we just had. Obviously, she gave me a lot to think about with her plump curves in all the right places, and her coy smile. But I know that it’s her giggle, the way she blushed and the way she looked at me, beyond my cock or my scars and truly at me, that I won’t be able to shake from my head for a long, long time.
6|Vanessa
“Who the hell was that guy? Do you know him? Oh my God, did you fuck him?” She whispers her last question as the idea seems to just hit her.
“No, no, nothing like that,” I clamp my mouth shut and swallow the confession about how I wish I had.
Fiona squints at me and then takes one last puff from her cigarette before dropping it out onto the pavement and blowing the last gray cloud from her lungs outside. “Is this about the movie? Because, listen, I know you want to take this part …”
“I have already accepted the part, Fiona,” I remind her.
“Yeah, I know,” she sighs deeply and runs her hands over her hair. “I know this is a great opportunity for your career, but I have got some concerns,” she rummages through her bag and pulls out a tiny plastic box of mints, popping it open and selecting one like she’s choosing a special Christmas chocolate out of the Pot of Gold box. Finally, she plucks one out and pops it into her mouth.
“What kind of concerns? That I will abandon you when I hit the big time?” I tease and steal one of her mints for myself, tucking it into my cheek.
“Ha-ha,” she answers humorlessly. “I’m being serious Vanessa, up until now you have always been the sidekick or the best friend or whatever, but you have never been pigeonholed into one personality type. This new role, it could define your entire career, but it could and probably will define the type of roles people will offer you from now on. If you’re playing a kind of sex-crazed nympho, that is the kind of stereotyping that sticks in this town.”
I suck on the mint and enjoy the refreshing blast of cool as it washes over my tongue. I know Fiona wants what’s best for me, but what she doesn’t know is that I need to take this part, not just for the potential to shoot my star into the sky, but for me.
“I don’t think that’s something we need to worry about,” I smile at her but she does not return my smile.
“Oh no? Well should I be worried about you hanging out in sex clubs with almost naked men I have never met before? Or is that all par for the course now too?” she sniffs.
“You don’t need to worry about that because I will never be going there again. It was too intense for me,” I admit. “I don’t even know why I went,” I lie.
“Research?”
“Sorta, more for me I guess. I mean, this part, this movie, the sex club, it’s all for me, if I’m being one-hundred-percent honest with you,” I drag my freshly manicured nails over the back of my hand and look down.
“What do you mean it’s for you?” She pushes me to explain. Fiona isn’t one for playing guessing games or subtlety. She’s an open book and believes that everyone around her should be the same. So, this tidbit I have been keeping from her is going to be a real shock for her.
“Well, remember how when Erik and I were together?”
“Ugh, yes,” she crinkles her nose in disgust. “What about him?”
“And, I told you he never made me cum right?”
“Well, if his pecker is as small as you said, it’s no wonder,” she distractedly reaches into her bag and pulls out her pack of cigarettes.
“It was that small, but that’s not why. The thing is, no one has ever made me cum. Literally no one.”
“Wait, are you serious?” She drops the almost empty box of smokes and looks directly at me with her eyebrows shot up toward the ceiling of the town car.
“Dead serious. No one has ever gotten me there,” I confess.
“Well, except for B.O.B, right? My battery-operated boyfriend never lets me down even when Josh gets lazy,” she giggles.
“No, not even a vibrator, or any toys. I’ve well, I’ve never had an orgasm ever,” heat prickles over my skin and makes me squirm in my seat uncomfortably as Fiona’s mouth drops open dramatically.
“Shut the fuck up! You’re lying,” she protests.
“I wish I was,” I shake my head. “It is the truth. The sad, pathetic truth. That is part of the reason I wanted this part so bad. I felt like if I could get inside my character’s head, if I could understand her compulsion, if I could experience her world, then maybe it would unlock whatever the fuck is jammed up inside me. I don’t want to die without ever feeling that connection with someone. Fuck, it’s so embarrassing that I have made it to twenty-four and never even come close. I don’t want this to keep haunting me,” I blurt it all out. My deep, dark secret. I wish my deepest burden was a secret drug addiction or something like that. At least that would be interesting. This, it’s just fucking sad.
“Woah, I…” for once Fiona is speechless. She clears her throat and looks me over as if she’s seeing me for the first time. I suppose, in a way, knowing this about me makes her feel that way. “I had no idea,” she finally manages to speak.
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly writing it on the back of my headshots and spreading the news around town. It’s fucking embarrassing.”
“Have you seen a doctor about it?” She seems to snap back from her thoughts and tries to help me figure this out, like it’s a problem we can solve together.
“I did, last year. There’s no medical reason for it. The doctor said it must be psychological, like I can’t relax enough or something.”
“Are you sure you’re not chasing the wrong type? Maybe you should try batting for the home team for a bit. I dated a woman back in college for a bit and let me tell you, the way she ate pussy, I considered turning my phase into a lifestyle. If I wasn’t such a cock slut, I probably would have.”
“I’m not gay, Fiona,” I sigh.
“Oh.”
Silence shrouds us and I stare out the window as Fiona lights up another cigarette. My thoughts wander back to Gabe. Back to the club. The vibrating music and the pulsing need that was growing between my thighs. He had real promise, but now I will never know if it all would have ended the same way with him.
I lean my forehead against the cool glass of the car window and watch the city slide by in a surge of light as we finally break free from traffic and get moving down the freeway. The image of Gabe knocking out my bodyguards in his underwear rushes my brain and I bite my lip as I remember how his muscles, looked like they were etched from steel, as he held his own against them.
I should fire them and hire him instead. Obviously, they’re not worth their pay if they can’t keep one guy from pounding the piss out of both of them. The thought seeps into my brain, marinating, as a smile spreads over my lips. I do have his number. And I do need a new guard. Maybe I can see him again after all.
7|Gabe
“C’mon Axle! Go grab your Frisbee, let’s go,” I call out and my German Shepherd runs around the barely furnished townhouse in a jolt of pure excitement. Even with three legs, he gets around faster than most dogs I have seen. It doesn’t take him long to sniff out his favorite red Frisbee from the edge of the kitchen counter and bring it to me with his little stub wiggling.
I can’t help but smile at the pure joy on his furry face as he scurries around the front door. “Alright, chill out, I’m moving a little slow this morning,” I stand up from my worn La-Z-Boy chair and stretch my hands high over my head. “I had a late night,” I explain and Axle tilts his head at me, his triangular ears perked up and listening intently. “Don’t give me that judgmental look, l will have you know nothing even happened,” my dog keeps staring at me, looking into me, and I can’t face him, I have to look away.
You could say Axle and I are a couple of peas in a pod. We both served our country in Afghanistan, we both got blown up for our trouble and we’re both happy keeping our relationships simple. We have each other, and that is the main thing.
Riding Lil' Red Hard Page 26