by Tess Oliver
She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me.
Forty-Two
Kinsey
Jameson was snoring lightly, looking perfectly amazing tangled up in my sheets. We'd spent the rest of Christmas day ignoring our phones, eating salty and sugary snacks from my cupboard and having sex in every room of the house. I'd slept for a few hours, but I was far too giddy to stay in a sound sleep. Everything had changed so quickly, I was still trying to figure out if it was real.
I fluffed my pillow behind me and plucked my laptop from the nightstand. I decided to avoid any social media. I opened a realtor's pop up ad for what he called the perfect, organic farm. It was a beautifully remodeled 1920 farmhouse on twenty lush acres that overlooked the Pacific Ocean just north of Santa Barbara.
Jameson yawned and stretched. He managed to make it look so damn hot, I instantly felt heat surge between my legs. He turned to face me and quickly discovered that I was sitting up.
"Thought we were going to avoid social media?" he said. His hand slipped across to my thighs, and he began caressing my leg.
"Not on social media. I'm looking at my dream house." I turned the monitor his direction. He briefly lifted his head to look at the picture, then returned his focus to my body. His hand had begun a leisurely trail toward my pussy. I instinctively dropped my thighs open, encouraging his exploration.
I sucked in a sharp breath as his thumb found my clit. It was tender from the long day and night of fucking. He knew just how to stroke it into a frenzy.
"I've grown kind of envious of Cassie. Yes, she had to live in the Dust Bowl era, but farm life just seems so simple, so nice." I took another long, satisfied breath as his fingers massaged my pussy. "I'm going to buy a farm."
"You kill all your houseplants," he reminded me.
"It'll be a learning experience but Cassie did it. She came from a posh east coast boarding school kind of life and she managed just fine. I mean, eventually." I closed the laptop and set it aside. I leaned back into the pillows and closed my eyes.
Jameson ducked under the sheets and positioned himself between my legs. I giggled as his hair tickled my inner thighs. He pushed the sheet back and peered up at me. "This generally works better without the wriggles and giggles."
"Sorry, you're right. I'll stay focused." I laughed again. The idea of me staying focused, even on oral sex was pretty amusing. I straightened up quickly when his tongue flicked across my clit, sending shivers of pleasure through me. My giggles softened to satisfied mewls. I scooted down to press harder against his mouth. The front door opened and closed, snapping us both out of the erotic moment.
Jameson's head popped up out of the sheet. "Was that the front door?"
"Yep, must be Shelby."
"Fuck," he grunted. "She has a key?"
"Of course. For safety reasons," I explained. "What if I slip in the shower and I can't get up. You know, like the commercials."
"What are you, eighty?" He slid out of the bed to look for his clothes.
I watched him circle the room frantically for his shorts. They were sitting at the corner of the bed.
"Kiki, where the hell are you?" Shelby called from the front room.
"In the bedroom," I called back.
Jameson's face popped up. "Seriously?" He plucked up his shorts. His naked ass was facing the door. He was still climbing into them when Shelby pushed open the door.
"Oh, oops, wow, sorry," she said, but she watched him finish pulling up the shorts. "That ass should be coated in bronze and hung in some rich lady's parlor."
Jameson combed his hair back with his fingers. "Thanks . . . I think. I'm going to make a pot of coffee," he said, but Shelby blocked him from leaving the room.
"Uh, have you two been on social media at all?" Shelby asked before Jameson could make his escape.
"Nope, we're trying to avoid it." I reached for my oversized t-shirt and pulled it over my head.
"Then you might want to stick around a second, Jameson, because shit is hitting the proverbial fan out there in Jameson and Kiki fandom." Shelby pulled out her phone and continued talking. "Apparently, you two were at a diner yesterday morning and the pancakes were topped with a hot kiss in the parking lot. Many photos were snapped." She looked at me. "I'll be talking to you later about the fact that customers at the diner knew about this"—she spun her finger in a circle—"before I knew."
"Sorry, bestie. We didn't really think about—" I started, but she stopped to show us a video of the kiss.
"No, clearly you weren't thinking, and I'll get over not knowing before Chuck the truck driver found out, but I'm afraid your fans are upset. Or, I should say some of them. There are those, who, like the protestors at your wedding, have never given up hope that Jake and Katy would someday be together again. But this, how shall I put it, was badly done. It was too soon after Jameson's breakup with Harlow. People are branding you a home wrecker, Kiki." She thumbed through a few posts, blanched at what a few of them said and decided against showing either of us. "Better just leave the phone out of it."
Jameson sat down on the edge of the bed. "Fuck people. It's none of their damn business."
"Uh, sorry, buddy, but you're a celebrity. It comes with the territory," Shelby said.
I lowered my feet to the floor and searched blindly with my feet for my fuzzy slippers. My stomach felt tight and a wave of nausea rolled over me. "I can't be that person. I don't want to be the home wrecker. I'm not the Angelina. I'm the Jen. Right?" I asked Shelby for confirmation.
She nodded and looked at Jameson. "She's right. She's a Jen."
"Yeah, interesting how you both sort of left out the third party in that scandal," Jameson noted.
"Well, yes." I got up. I needed to move. "That's because the third party is Brad. There's really only one of those in the world."
Shelby nodded again. "Yep, it's Brad. He's kind of untouchable."
I paced the room and discretely shook my hands to whisk away the numbness brought on by the sudden case of nerves.
"She's shaking her hands," Shelby said, unnecessarily. "Stop right there, Kiki. No panic attack. You can weather this. You guys have been through rough, over the top publicity before."
I turned to her. "Yes, buddy ole pal, and you might recall how that all ended. In fact, I'm sure you'll recall because you were the one handing me the endless supply of tissue."
Jameson got up and walked over to me. He pulled me into his arms. "Shelby is right. This will pass. You know how quickly shit churns through the news cycle." His arms felt so strong, his voice was so confident and he smelled so damn good, but I still felt sick to my stomach.
I peered up at him. My throat was aching with the words I needed to say. "I don't think I can handle this kind of publicity. I don't want to be the bitch who tore you and Harlow apart. I can't have people thinking badly of me."
"What are you trying to say, Keezy?"
"That's my cue to leave," Shelby said.
"Stay nearby," I said quietly. "I think I'm going to need you, and buy some fucking Kleenex." My voice broke with a sob. I wriggled free of his grasp.
Shelby slipped out of the room.
Jameson looked as stricken as I felt.
"I fucking hate this business," I muttered. "I hate everything about it. Why can't we just be together and no one pay any attention to us? That's all I want. The two of us to just vanish into the crowd."
Jameson moved to hug me but I put up my hands. It was only going to make things harder. I stared at him through tears. "I can't do this, Jameson. I don't want to be the home wrecker."
"So, that's it?" he asked. "You're just going to give up on this because of what other people think of it? That doesn't sound like the Kinsey Greene I know. That girl never gives a fuck what anyone thinks."
I wrapped my arms around myself to stave off the chill in the room and the major case of nerves threatening to overtake me. "Let's just put this whole thing on delay. You only just broke up with Harlow. Who knows, maybe you'
ll have second thoughts about that."
"Nope, I can guarantee there'll be no second thoughts. Just like I can guarantee there won't be any second thoughts about you and me." His voice quieted. "I love you, Keezy. That's all I'm going to say." He grabbed his shirt and shoes. "You decide if that's enough to get you to ignore all the stupid social media noise." He walked out of the room.
I badly wanted to call him back, but I didn't know what to say or how to feel, except awful. The front door snapped shut. I flopped face down on my bed to have a good cry.
Forty-Three
Jameson
I spent the rest of winter break hanging out with friends and avoiding most public places. Harlow called twice from the Bahamas to berate me about having an affair right under her nose. She talked over me for most of the conversations, so I just held the phone to my ear, allowed her to vent and then ended the calls with my usual, I'm sorry, Harlow. Not once did I have a second thought, like Kinsey had suggested. I was relieved to be free of Harlow. She was controlling and rigid and, in many ways, not the least bit fun. Not like Kinsey. But Kinsey was out of my life again it seemed. Unless I counted the few scenes we still had to film on location. At least none of them were sex scenes.
Today's major scenes were from a pivotal part in the book. They were exterior shots and included lots of dust. The massive industrial sized fan was set up to create the mock windstorm. Some real dust would be added to the scene, but most of it, enough to blacken the day like the real storms during the Dust Bowl, would be added by special effects. Still, it wasn't easy to find marks and pull off lines when you were being pelted with strong wind and blinding dust.
There had been a few less noteworthy scenes since our arrival back on location. Kinsey and I tried to keep the same chemistry but it wasn't easy. Both of us were hurting. She was still getting nailed by threats and nasty memes on social media, mostly Harlow's fans. I was getting a few of my own, but as always, it seemed the other woman was branded the evil-doer. It was totally unfair.
The hardest part was how much Kinsey avoided me between times in front of the camera. If I happened to glance her direction, she instantly pulled her gaze away. Every time it happened, she took another little piece of my soul.
I plucked my script up from the coffee table and sat down to look it over. For this scene, Kinsey would have a fake pregnancy belly fastened beneath her dress. Cassie was five months pregnant when a nightmarish dust storm blew through, bringing with it heartbreak and tragedy.
Dear friend, my hand shakes too much to write, so I will keep it brief even though I have a million words that could fill the space. But tonight they will stay lodged in my heart, to be released when I can give this horrendous day its proper due. I sit alone in the bedroom, thin grit covering every inch of the bed linens. It crunches under my slippers as my feet fidget on the floor. I can't bring myself to look at the indentation still there from when Tom climbed out of bed this morning. It's hard to believe that was just twelve hours ago. So much has happened it seems like a lifetime, an unbearable lifetime. It began again with one of those abominable dark, menacing clouds of dust. How could there be so much earth to blow? It came toward us like a gigantic, shadowy monster. One could almost hear its evil laughter in the wind. It blotted out the sun and left behind only pitch dark.
All I could think was the end of the world had come. My baby would never see the light of day, and we would be buried together for eternity under the silt and dirt left behind. I'd seen pictures once of a town called Pompeii. Volcanic lava covered the townsfolk, stopping some of them dead in their tracks, entombed where they stood for eternity. That was how I pictured the end for all of us. That was not how the day ended, but it was devastating nonetheless. The image of Nate, looking as anguished as a grown man could, carrying Tom's lifeless body through the haze will haunt me until the day I die.
Sawyer chewing out one of the prop team members pulled my focus from the script. As I glanced up, I just happened to catch Shelby with her hand on Kinsey's shoulder in a comforting kind of way. Kinsey was staring at the ground as Shelby talked to her, apparently trying to ease her mind about something. Kinsey nodded weakly and turned to walk away from the set. Shelby looked over at me with brows bunched in concern. We headed toward each other and met in front of the massive wind fan.
"What's going on?" I asked. "Is she worried about the scene?"
"It's not the scene." Shelby bit her lip as if trying to decide whether or not to tell me. She pulled out her phone. "Don't know if you saw this but, unfortunately, about a hundred people sent a link to Kinsey this morning. Harlow wrote a long, dramatic post about dealing with severe depression because of the breakup."
"What? No way. She never gets depressed.” I glanced at the post. Shelby was right it was dramatic, a little too dramatic. I sighed as I handed the phone back to Shelby. "I'll call Harlow later, but honestly, this is an attention getting scheme. Harlow has those down to an art. She already goes to a full time therapist, she says mostly to deal with stage fright and nervous tension. She pays some holistic expert a thousand dollars a month for herbs and teas and all the kind of shit people take for body, mind and spirit. Or at least that's what Harlow calls it. Guess this is the last thing Kinsey needed to see."
"Definitely isn't helping her body, mind or spirit," Shelby said.
"I need the actors to take their places," Sawyer announced.
"I better go find her. She said she needed to take a little walk." Shelby dashed off.
I headed toward the barn. Tom would enter the barnyard scene from the porch. Cassie would start the frame hanging wet laundry on the clothesline. We only had a few lines before all hell broke loose with the wind whipping up and dust blowing through the set.
I looked past the activity near the director's chair, but there was no sign yet of Kinsey. The day with the snake popped back into my head. I somehow doubted she would wander off too far in such a short time with the possibility of reptiles slithering about, but I was going to give it three minutes, then I'd head out to look for her myself.
Forty-Four
Kinsey
I tripped over a small crack in the ground and flew forward two sharp steps before Shelby caught my arm to keep me from going face first. I adjusted the fake pregnancy belly and chuckled as I did it. "I look just like my great Uncle Bob when he adjusts his pants under his big belly. Seriously, how the heck do pregnant women stop from falling face first with every step?"
"Most of them don't go straight from zero weeks pregnant to the second trimester overnight. That gives them time to get their bearings and say good bye to their feet." Shelby was practically pulling me along to get back to the set. I had never so badly wanted to sit out a day of work. Nothing about the morning seemed right after a hundred plus nosy posies decided to let me know, in no uncertain terms, that I had destroyed Harlow Newton's life.
"Come on, pal." Shelby stopped to give me a squeeze. "You're almost done on location. Then it's back to the studio for a few missing pieces and you're all done. Maybe we should take a trip to San Diego after it's all over. Get you the hell out of Dodge, as they say."
"Let's go somewhere. Maybe Santa Barbara." The entire fiasco with Jameson and Harlow had only made the idea of living far out of town on a farm that much more enticing. My feet plodded heavily on the smooth dirt path. I was like a kid being forced to go to school. If only I was just going to school. "I wish I were ten again," I said as I leaned against Shelby. "Then, the only thing I had to fret about was math tests and whether or not my mom put a cookie in my lunch."
"Those were the good old days, weren't they?" We reached the set.
Sawyer's irritated expression swung my direction. "Greene, good of you to join us."
I ignored his barb and the tall, handsome man watching me from the barn entrance. As well as the perpetually angry man scowling at me from the front porch. I headed to my mark at the laundry line.
"Lock it up," Sawyer yelled.
The slate snapped, a
ction was called.
Cassie is quickly pulling wet laundry off the line as the dust storm moves in. Light wind.
Tom: Cass, I'm going out to the fields. Back in time for lunch.
Cassie shields her eyes from the sun and the dust as she stares out toward the darkness.
Cassie: There's a dust storm coming. It looks bigger than any I've ever seen. Can't the work wait?
Tom keeps walking.
Tom: I've got time. Have lunch ready and no more of that swill you called soup. It made me sick to my stomach.
Tom walks off screen. Cassie continues to remove the laundry. She looks frantically toward the cloud of dust that seems to be moving at an alarming rate. Wind picks up and her chemise blows free from her hand and is carried away. She chases after it, moving slowly because of her pregnancy. Nate plucks it off the nearby water pump and holds it up to admire it.
Nate: Missing something?
Cassie grabs it from his hands.
Nate: Is Tom in the house? We need to patch the barn roof after this dust blows through.
Cassie: He marched out toward the field making sure to add in an insult about my soup before he left.
Nate looks back at the cloud of dust.
Nate: That cloud is moving fast. Why the hell didn't he wait?