"Sure." She flits over to him, and even though he gives me a cold look, he comes.
He sees Clay and reaches out to shake his hand. "What's going on?"
"We haven't found a replacement for Rebecca," I say, avoiding his gaze. "And since Clay was here anyway, he's graciously offered to take my place behind the camera while I stand in."
I see Peter's body go completely still. "You're going to stand in?"
"Apparently there are no five-foot something redheads available in L.A. today. So we’ll shoot your angles of the scene today, and we'll pick up the two-shots and Harley's side when she's back from New York tomorrow."
He nods shortly. "Okay. When are we going?"
"They're doing the last of the touch-ups now."
"Good." Then he turns and walks back across the set. Clay is looking after him, seemingly puzzled.
"He needs his space for emotional scenes," I explain. "But he always delivers more than what I ask, so it's a small price to pay."
Clay leans on the arm of my chair. "He's really that good?"
"I think so. I think he could be really big. Tom Cruise big."
He laughs. "That's ambitious, but go for it."
Gloria touches me on the arm. "Wardrobe needs you for the shirt."
"Right." We're only doing over-the-shoulder shots, so I shouldn't have to change my pants. I excuse myself and step into our wardrobe closet, which only makes things worse because all I can think about is how Peter fucked me up against that wall and it was one of the hottest moments of my life.
They get me into the shirt, which is far more revealing than something I would wear on set. And the minute I walk out the door, Peter and lock eyes. Heat rolls up my body, and I can't fight the flush on my cheeks. God, I wish they'd send me to make up so foundation would cover it. Thankfully I think I'm far enough across the room that he can't see.
But I want him to see. I want him to see that he still affects me more than ever. That I was wrong and I'm sorry, even if there's no way he'll ever be able to tell that from a blush.
I haven’t acted in…forever. It’s not that I don’t know how, or even that I’m expected to act as a stand-in, but it’s with Peter. I’m having flashbacks of us acting together, and all the moments that entailed.
Gloria is right though, I know the script by heart, and I know where I’m supposed to stand and what to do. Clay has draped himself in my chair, and I allow them to adjust the lighting as I step into the frame. The director of photography fixes the shot, and suddenly Peter is in front of me. His eyes are cold, professional.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Sure.”
Clay calls out. “Okay Amber, Peter.”
I move to my mark outside of the door to the apartment set. “And, action.”
Knocking on the door, I’m aware of the camera behind me, and it’s not Peter who answers the door, it’s Alex. Raw and sexy and fiery. He leans in the doorway. “Genova.”
I push past him into the set. “Alex.”
His presence pulses with energy behind me and we circle each other so the camera is behind me again. “What are you doing here?” I don’t answer, making a point of looking through his place, making myself comfortable. “I don’t think your father would like you being here.”
“My father doesn’t tell me where to go. Besides, I think he’d be comfortable knowing I’m safe with one of his most trusted lieutenants.” Genova suspects there’s something up with him, but that’s not why she’s here.
“I’m not that,” he says, prowling towards me. “Not yet.”
“You will be.”
He’s right in front of me now, and I can feel the energy pouring off him. I want to reach out and touch him, but not yet. That’s not in the script. But this feels like what we had just a couple of days ago, this vibrant, humming tension. We’ve always had good chemistry acting, and it’s harder not to let it bleed across the boundaries now then it was then.
“I’m not sure about that,” he says softly.
I look up at him then, seeing the want and love in his eyes that’s not for me. It’s for Genova, and it hurts. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t think your father’s going to be happy about me doing this.” He reaches out and pulls me toward him, and suddenly he’s kissing me.
Holy fuck.
Fire consumes me, and suddenly I’m kissing him back. Yes, yes, yes. My whole body is singing and somehow this is everything. The last two days thinking I’d never have this again, it’s amazing and perfect and it hurts because I know it might be the last time.
I get lost in this kiss, and I know that it’s not a character anymore. This is me and Peter. I want it. I’m not sure how I could have ever said otherwise. What a fucking idiot I am.
“Cut!”
The word rings out across the set, but it doesn’t register. I don’t stop kissing Peter. My arms are around his neck and I want to pull him closer. One more second, and he’s pulling away. I suddenly become aware that we were kissing well past cut, and Peter takes a step away from me.
I feel the weight of the stares of the crew, but all I can do is look at Peter, and I see him. Him. And he doesn’t hate me. I can see it in his eyes, the want and need as desperate as my own. I’m so relieved and so terrified about what just happened. Everybody saw.
Clay approaches mine. “Good, good. I think that was pretty good. You were right, Amber, he really delivers. I don’t think we need to get another take. But Peter, don’t forget you’ll still have to film the rest when Harley returns.”
“Of course.”
I turn to look at him, to smile, but he’s gone. He’s already half-way across the set, striding toward the door that leads to the lot. And all the hope I’d just built up slips away. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe even though I saw that he feels what I do, I wrecked it. Maybe he’s going to keep his word, that he’s not going to come back.
7
Peter
Past
The nerves churn in my gut as I pull up to the train station. I double checked the time my mom sent and I asked her again if she was sure that she was coming. All signs say yes. But I also know that I'm not going to believe it until I see her. Aunt Lily is still skeptical, and I suppose that she has good reason to be. After everything my mother has done, she's going to have to earn back Lily's trust.
Mine too.
There's a seed of hope in my stomach that isn't crushed though. It's sitting there like a piece of light waiting for her to walk off the train. I park the car and head inside. It's not too busy this time of day, and the signs clearly point to the train coming in from Virginia. The space is light and open, and there aren't a whole lot of places to sit, so I stand and wait by a pillar.
Eleven o'clock comes and goes, and nothing happens. It's almost ten past when people begin to spill out of the entryway for that train. It seems strange, but I'm worried that I won't recognize her. The last time I saw her she was so high, so wasted away from drugs, that she’d faded into someone that I barely recognized. If she's clean, then she might be the next iteration of her. Another person I don't recognize.
"Peter!"
There's a woman waving at me. She's older, but everything in me sags in relief. It's her. There's no doubt about it. That little seed of hope sends beams of light shooting through my body and I can't keep the smile off my face, or the speed out of my steps as I run over to her. I can't stop myself, I wrap her in a hug. "Hi, Mom."
She feels so familiar, and I have to push back tears as she wraps her arms around me.
"It's so good to see you," she says, pulling back to look at me. "You're so big!" She hesitates. "But of course you'd be different, it's been so long."
There's a light that goes out in her eyes and I hate the guilt that's there. "It doesn't matter," I say, picking up her suitcase. "You're here now."
"I am," she agrees.
I lead her through the station toward my car. I'm suddenly wondering what she's going to think of my life. My ca
r, my apartment, my job. Will she be proud of me? Will she think the clunker second-hand car that I bought isn't good enough? I push down the nerves. "Are you hungry? We can go to lunch before we go home if you want."
She smiles. "That would be nice."
Downtown there are plenty of places to eat, and although I don't come down here much, I do know a cafe that has good food and prices that don't shoot straight through the roof. I put her bags in my car before zipping down the road to it. The silence in the car is overwhelming. Not awkward, just full of the things that I want to say and want to hear, and probably all the things she wants to say too. It's only a five-minute drive to the cafe, and neither of us speak, like we're waiting for the food to get us to open up.
It works.
Once we've both placed our orders, I ask, "So, how are you?"
"You know," she says, "I'm really good. I've gone to rehab, got a new job, and I think I'm finally getting my life back on track. I'm just sorry that you got in the middle of all of that."
I give her smile. I can't tell her that it's okay, because it's not. "It all worked out."
"How are you doing? What are you doing? I want to hear everything."
I'm not totally sure that she wants to hear everything, but once she asks, it's like the words just pour out of me. I didn't realize how badly I wanted to tell her how I fell in love with acting and Amber and about my dreams and wanting to move to L.A. I tell her everything that she's missed, even about Amber and how it fell apart and it's my fault. And how I tried to make up for it by making sure that she got into whatever college she chose.
"It sounds like you've had a good life since I left," she says, her face sad.
I reach across the table and take her hand. "It would have been better if you had been there."
"Do you actually believe that?" she asks.
"I do."
There's a silent moment before she squeezes my hand back.
"What job do you have now?"
She grins. "I'm a hair dresser. Once I got clean, this program helped me go to beauty school. I like it. There's something nice about helping people look their best. It's like being a therapist, but better. And I met a nice guy."
There's a twinge in my chest. My mother's problems in the past have stemmed a lot from men, but she has a right to be happy. And if she's gotten her life back together this much, then I need to give her the benefit of the doubt.
"Oh?"
"Yeah," she says, taking a bite of a french fry. "He came in for a haircut and we've been together ever since. He's a car salesman. Owns his own dealership and everything!"
"I'm really happy for you, Mom."
"Thanks."
I take a bite of my burger and swallow before I ask the next question. "Do you want to see Aunt Lily while you're here?"
Mom grimaces. "Does she want to see me?"
"She can be convinced, and I think it would be great for her to see how well you're doing."
"Yeah..." she trails off. "If she says yes, then sure. But I wouldn't blame her if she didn't want to see me. I honestly wouldn't have blamed you either."
"Why wouldn't I want to see you?"
She looks up, and her eyes fill with tears. "Because I abandoned you. I was too high to even care if you were safe or warm or homeless. What kind of mother does something like that?"
I smile, and squeeze her hand again. "I've forgiven you, and you're here now." The fact that I had forgiven her was news to me just now, but I'm not angry about it. There's nothing either of us can do to change it now, so there's no point in rehashing it over and over.
As we eat, we talk more about her lives. I tell her how I'm saving money to move to L.A. and that I want to make a go at acting because I think I could be really good at it, and she tells me about her favorite clients, and funny stories in her salon. Everything from bad mistakes to irate customers to the time her boss didn't see a pile of hair and slipped on it like a banana peel. It feels good. It feels natural.
Since Amber left, I haven't had anyone that I could just sit and talk about life with. Not that Amber is in any way like my mother, but she was my best friend. And telling my mom about everything that's been happening soothes that urge I have to call Amber and fill her in on all aspects of my life. And more than that, makes me feel alive again. Like I'm not the person that people use and abandon. That I mean something to someone.
When we finish eating and are heading back to the car, I ask her, "What do you want to do now? I can show you around the town. We can head back to my apartment. We could see a movie."
"I want to see where you live," she says, eyes bright, "But first." She opens the back of my car and digs around in one of her bags. She pulls out a present that's wrapped perfectly. Bright red paper and a white bow, almost like a present you would see in a TV commercial. "Tony, my boyfriend, has a friend that lives not too far from here. When he heard I was coming up here he asked if I could drop off this birthday gift so he could save on postage." She rolls her eyes but she's smiling. "Can we do that real quick? I have the address."
Something twists in my gut, but I can't pinpoint the reason why. It's not like I expected that the present was for me. "Sure."
"After I drop it off we can do whatever you want, and I really want to see your place."
She reads off the address to me from her phone and she's right, it's only a ten-minute drive. She keeps talking about Tony and how silly he is, but she loves him so she's willing to do this kind of stuff for him. The neighborhood we're in isn't exactly great, but there are plenty of sketchy neighborhoods around here. The neighborhood I live in right now isn't exactly high class. We pull up to a house with peeling white paint and I point to it. "That's it."
"Okay. I'll just be two seconds."
"So you want me to come with you?"
She waves a hand. "No, just a drop off. I'm not going in for tea and cookies." She hops out of the car and up the stairs and I watch as she rings the doorbell. Not long after a handsome man in jeans and a t-shirt comes to the door. It looks like they have a brief interaction and he smiles wide as he takes the present from her. I don't miss the way he looks her up and down as she comes back to the car. I don't like him.
"All done," she says as she slides back in. "Now, let's go see your place."
I don't say anything as we drive away, but I can't shake the feeling that that guy isn't the kind of guy that my mom should be interacting with anymore, and that there's a lot more going on here than meets the eye. But I can't lose mom. Not now when she's come back. Not after losing Amber. I'm not sure how many more losses I can take, so I'm going to enjoy the fact that she's here and clean and so far, seems like most everything is okay.
8
Peter
Present
Fucking hell.
Shit.
What the fuck was that?
I had a plan. A perfect plan to stay away from Amber and keep it cool and professional and perfectly clean just the way she wanted it. I'm so frustrated that I could scream. I settle for storming across the lot to my trailer and back, and to it again. I scrub my face over my hands because this is too much. Of course this would happen. Of course the universe would put us in a position where we have to kiss, and I have to be the one to stop it. Of course that kiss would feel like oxygen when I'm suffocating.
I'm so hard that it aches and I don't want anything but to walk back onto set and pull Amber out of there so I can fuck her up against a wall. In her chair. In my chair. On the concrete ground of the lot. I don't care. I can still feel the imprint of her lips on mine and the way she wrapped herself around my neck. There's no doubt in my mind that she still wants this. Wants us. But how can she with everything that she said? Not to mention that she nearly just did what she claimed she was so afraid of, getting so lost in our kiss that she didn't even hear Clay call cut.
I have to do something. Anything. This tension needs to come out. Storming into my trailer, I have one hand on the lock and one hand on my belt. I can'
t undo it fast enough, and I'm so hard that when my cock springs free I almost come because of the relief. I drop my hand to touch myself, and I hiss with the harshness and friction. It's only steps to my bathroom, and I step inside. Most people probably won't be surprised that I have lotion handy. There are hours and hours of waiting on set, and sometimes you need to blow off steam.
Shit, thinking about blowing makes me think about Amber on her knees, mouth open, waiting for me. She hasn't done that for me since we were together before, but I swear I remember it like it was yesterday. The lotion on my hand is slick, and suddenly this friction is perfect and delicious and god I'm going to come fast. I need to come fast.
In my mind's eye I see her taking the tip of me in her mouth, cherry red lipstick coating my cock as she bobs up and down, taking me deeper. Those perfect eyes look up at me, and I swear she smiles, eager for me. It's when her tongue strokes me that I lose it, pleasure blazing through my balls and up my spine and out. I stroke myself until every last drop of pleasure fades, my breath coming hard and fast as I lean back against the wall. The intensity of that orgasm was absurd, and Amber isn't even here. Fuck.
I clearly need a new plan, because this one isn't going to work.
Maybe I should talk to her. She said she wanted to, but I'm hesitant. My chest could be ripped open at any second, and she could tear my heart out, and stomp on it in front of me. And I would let her do it, because even if I pretend that I don't, I love Amber. I always have. Shit.
I don't know if this show is the best thing that ever happened to me or the worst. I was happy before the show, or happy enough. In the last couple of months, I've had more highs and lows than the entire ten years we were apart. Is risking everything for what I think would be true happiness worth the pain it would bring? My gut says yes, but my head remembers how hard it was when she left the first time. I could probably do it again if I had to, but that kind of pain isn't something that I'd wish on anyone.
For Us: The Girl I Loved Page 4