by N. K. Smith
“Discuss some music?” I suggest.
“Yes. And books. Maybe you could come up around six-thirty tomorrow night?
“Up? As in your suite?”
She looks away for a second, then back at me. “It’s a bit bigger, and I have the entire floor.” She points to the men behind her as she says their names. “Oscar, Michael, and X won’t have to just stand around in a hallway.”
“Sounds good.” After she leaves and I put my guitar away, I power up my laptop. It’s not the first time I’ve searched for news or stories on her, but this time all I have to do is glance through the articles. Most of the world knows her history, but since I’ll be spending more time with her tomorrow, I want to brush up on it.
The number of items talking about her movies is astounding, the number of pictures overwhelming, but what I’m most interested in are the online magazine and newspaper articles about what happened to her ten years ago. I read police report summaries and watch videos of reporters ambushing her on the street. They asked her incredibly personal questions about what that man–Rodney Douglas–did to her during the nearly twenty-four hours he held her captive inside her own apartment.
It disgusts me to even watch it. It’s so clear how wounded she was, yet journalists and paparazzi ask her about the bath tub filled with ice, the black duffle bag of an assortment of sexual items, and the physical scars he left her with.
“Go read the fucking police report, you piece of shit.” Cole practically spits venom at the guy who took the video I’m watching now.
In the next one, she flicks off the camera. I can tell this one is after she started using narcotics. There is a void in her eyes. The one after that shows how she was nearly swallowed up by overeager spectators and reporters. I wonder where the hell her security team was then.
When I can’t watch or read any more, I shut the computer down and spend the rest of the night thinking about how something like that would shape a person, and how it happening so publically would change them.
I wonder how Cole managed to survive and put such a big event behind her.
“Jules, stop.” I grab her wrists and pull her hands away. I had stayed up so late last night researching Cole’s past that I’m too tired to deal with even the suggestion of sex right now. I don’t have enough energy to even consider it, much less engage in it.
“You can’t be tired. You don’t even have a scene today. We have all day to—”
“How’s Mr. Tattoo?” I fail to keep my voice even.
“What? Who?”
“You know, the tattooed dude from last night.”
Julie looks away.
Now I know all I need to. “You fucked him?”
She licks her lips, then retrains her icy eyes on me. “Well, you weren’t around.”
I put some distance between us.
“What the hell, Devon? We’re not dating. I never said I wouldn’t screw anyone else.”
The way she says it makes me pause; both my feet and my mind stop as I mull it over. Although I know my relationship with her will never go anywhere, it’s still a blow to my ego. “So is that what we’re doing? Just screwing?”
Her laugh cuts me, but I try not to let it show. This is the moment I have to decide whether to continue with this bullshit. It’s an easy answer, but I’ve never told anyone it’s over before, so I walk out of my room and simply say, “Whatever.”
When I come back ten minutes later from going up and down the hotel stairs for no other reason than to give Julie time to leave my room and get a little extra cardio in, she’s gone. I wish the smell of her perfume was gone, too. For the rest of the day, I’m alone reading and sleeping, and every once in a while glancing at the clock so I don’t lose track of time. At six-thirty on the nose, I’m in the elevator on Cole’s floor.
Two huge guards—not the ones who usually follow her around—greet me with outstretched hands, telling me to stop. “Get back into the elevator, sir.”
Like I need more nerves right now. I wouldn’t say I’ve ever been an overly confident person, but the fact Cole has invited me up here should boost my self-esteem, but it seems to do a bit of the opposite. It’s not every day a Hollywood heavyweight takes an interest in me. I manage to formulate an answer to this man. “But I’m Devon. Devon Maddox. Cole invited me.”
The first guard looks me up and down.
I chew on the inside of my lips.
“Right. Why don’t you go back down to the lobby and she’ll—”
“Matthew, are you being rude to my guest?”
The guard turns around, and backs up.
When Cole appears, I smile in relief.
“No ma’am. I just didn’t—”
She puts a hand on his arm and smiles up at the massive man. “It’s okay. I’m having dinner with him. Let him through.”
I step out of the elevator.
The second guard asks, “Shouldn’t we search him?”
Collette shakes her head. “Not necessary. He’s fine.”
It’s not until we’re behind the closed door of her suite that I say, “Man, they’re really on it.”
“You’d be surprised how many people try to get up here. They’re all that stands between me and . . .”
“Another Rodney Douglas?”
Collette visibly tenses, and I immediately wish I hadn’t said the name. Way to go, Devon. Start the whole night off on the wrong foot.
“Exactly.” She leads me to the sofa.
I sit and look around. “You’re right, this is much nicer than mine.”
“Not for long.”
“What do you mean?”
“The studio already has big plans for you and Liliana. You’re going to be the it actors after this. They’ve hired a heavy hitting PR company to handle the release and the actors. Before we wrap, there will be some more classes for you to attend on how to be a movie star.”
“Can’t you just tell me?”
Cole chuckles. “I’m not the best movie star out there. I don’t love the limelight as much as I’m supposed to. To make the big bucks for the films you’re in, you need to act the part, and it’s increasingly difficult for me to do that.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about, so I just look around her space, then ask, “How’d shooting go today?”
“Good. I think we got some good footage. You should watch the dailies tomorrow morning. Liliana has some really great performances.”
The conversation dies because I can think of nothing to contribute. There is an awkwardness that comes from sitting in a room with someone you think is so awesome. I don’t know if she feels it in reverse or not, but I’m not sure why the hell we decided to hang out.
“So what are you hungry for, Devon?”
“There’s a little Italian place up the road a bit, we can—”
“Italian’s awesome, but if you don’t mind, we’ll have someone pick it up. It’s ridiculously hard not to get noticed when I go out and—”
“I should’ve thought about that,” I say, chewing the inside of my cheek again. Perhaps being naive isn’t as wonderful as she makes it sound.
“Do you know their menu?” She gets up and grabs her tablet. “Here it is.” She sits down right next to me.
I can feel the heat of her body, and there is something about it that gives me chills. Cole notices and turns her head to me. Her face is close to mine. I can smell the peppermint of her breath.
“Are you cold? I can turn the air—”
“No, no, I’m fine.”
Struck with the sudden urge to pull her into my lap, I resist and look at the menu instead. I can’t just claim Cole like she’s any other girl. This is the woman who through a few words at the right time, kept me in the acting business. She isn’t like any of my ex-girlfriends. She isn’t even like Julie. This woman isn’t even close to being in my league, not to mention technically my boss, so there is no way I can push through my hero worship and behave like that. She intimidates the hell o
ut of me, and I don’t want to mess anything up.
“I’ll probably just stick with the baked ziti. I had it a couple of nights ago,” I say.
“If you’ve just had it, why not try something different? Anything you want.”
“I don’t know. I tend to take the safe route when it comes to food.”
“Nope,” she says as she abruptly stands up. “Not going to cut it. I’ll take care of ordering, and whatever I get, you have to try. Next time, it’ll be your choice.”
The implication of there being a next time with Cole sends shivers down my body. I don’t know why, but every time I get significantly nervous, I shiver uncontrollably. She notices again and says, “Seriously, if you’re cold, I can—”
“No,” I break in, embarrassed. “I’m totally fine, you just—”
“I just what?”
I stand up and move to the books she has on the desk and thumb through one. “It’s just sort of a big thing for me to be hanging out with someone like you.”
“Someone like me?”
“No. Not like you. You.” I turn around and give her what I hope is a charming smile. “I’m not really all that interesting and you’re so . . .”
When I don’t finish, Cole says, “I think you’re interesting.”
Our eyes connect, and I hold her gaze. Something passes between us, but I’m not sure I’m reading things right. I don’t want to do the wrong thing with her. She isn’t like the women I’m used to. She is confident in who she is and what she likes. While the tabloids never show her with a long-term lover, there are the stories of guys she “dates.” I don’t know if the rumors are true, but if she has that kind of experience, and can have any guy she wants, it’s difficult for me to see where I can step up to the plate and know I can hit it out of the park. Who am I? I’m just an ant standing in the shadow of a giant.
Maybe she likes me. Maybe I’m just the guy she wants tonight, but maybe she wants me for more than just an easy night of fun and pleasure. Maybe she thinks I’m interesting enough to keep around. I hope so because not only is her body fantastic, but she has the face of a goddess, and is probably one of the most interesting and powerful women in America. Underneath all that is someone who, from what I can tell, thinks like me. And then there is that subtle, indefinable something. The feeling within me that I’m meant to know her better. I’m meant to share some portion of my life with her. At least I hope that is what the feeling means.
Cole finally breaks the connection by smiling widely and holding up her cell. “Hold that thought, okay? Let me order so we can eat relatively soon.”
She turns away, and I go back to looking at the books. There is a book about Zen philosophy and another one about a psychic medium. The one I pick up is a biography of Hans Christian Anderson. Seems like a weird choice for her to read.
“Hey, Julie.”
My stomach tightens, and I turn around quickly, expecting Cole’s assistant to be in the room, but what I find is Cole on her cell. “Can you get some food from Attitude?” She pauses. “No, for two people. Xavier’s off for the night, so just have Michael go pick it up.” Another pause. “Yeah, just get a bunch of stuff you know I like.”
Collette turns around and flashes me the sexiest smile I’ve ever seen.
My dick jumps in my pants so much I have to turn around.
“Oh, yeah, and beer. I don’t know, some local stuff and then some high quality imports.” She chuckles. “Obviously, it’s not for me. Thank you, Julie.” She puts down her cell. “So, want to play my guitars?”
“Yes, please,” I say as I step away from the desk.
I can’t help but stare at her as she grabs the guitars and moves to the couch to sit down. I stare at her so long that she looks up at me and I feel like a goon.
“Do you prefer to play standing?”
“No.” As fast as I can, I step over to the couch and sit down next to her, but then scoot over when she hands me the guitar. We’re both right handed players, and I don’t want to hit her with the neck of this beautiful guitar. “I’ve never played a Gibson like this before.”
“Is it everything you dreamed it would be?”
I lay the guitar over my legs and push my hair off my forehead. “It’s awesome.”
Cole continues to play.
I can’t help myself and blurt out a few questions. “Why are you so interested in me? Why’d you give me the part? Why’re you having dinner with me?”
Cole’s thumb brushes the strings one last time, but produces no sound. “Why is your confidence so low that you have to ask?”
I break eye contact with her; she doesn’t speak until I bring them back up.
“Professionally, I see a lot of talent in you. I believe you’re going to be a powerful force in Hollywood, and all you need is someone to vouch for you.”
“And that someone is you?”
“Do you have anyone else lined up?”
God, I wish I could have the upper hand in a discussion just once. It’s not just with Collette. This is how my entire life has gone, with me struggling to keep up. I shake my head.
“Actually, now is as good of time as any to talk to you about future roles. I’m directing a film right after Tortured Desires wraps. I want to discuss you taking the lead role.”
My mouth hangs open before I realize how stupid I must look. “Holy shit, really?”
“Yes. It’s another low-budget film, but it’s very dramatic and will show you can do something other than mindless teenage romances.”
“Tortured Desires isn’t mindless,” I say, then snap my mouth closed. I have to stay focused. “This new one, what’s it called?”
“The working title is Call Me Out, but the studio wants to call it Reflections. Anyway, you’d play the lead, Hayden, who is kind of a messed up kid because of his family history, but he’s looking for something to set him on the right path.”
“Kid?” I ask, wondering if this is just another movie aimed for teenaged consumption.
“Well, he’s in his twenties, like you.” She smiles and shakes her head. “Sorry, I’ve become an old woman now that I’m in my thirties. I tend to think of people in their twenties as kids.”
I hope she doesn’t think of me like that, but maybe it’s never been a bad thing to be young in Hollywood.
“I’d love the role.” I don’t even need to look at the script. If Cole believes in it and is directing it, that is all I need to jump in feet first. Then I remember a condition she put on why she was interested in me. “You said professionally. Are you interested in me in some other way?” Voicing the question makes my heart rate rise just a bit. I’m like a walking chick flick, complete with racing hearts and gushing hope.
“God, I love how innocent you are right now.” She pauses to lick her lips. “Yes, Devon. Personally, I think you’re incredibly interesting. You’re intelligent, you read great books, you’re witty, and you’re from New York. I love New York boys. You’re pretty damn sexy, and what makes you even hotter is that you seem to have no idea how attractive you are.”
That isn’t entirely true. I know I’m good looking. I wouldn’t be a working actor if I wasn’t, but I’m nowhere near the caliber of Hollywood star sexy.
“I can go on, unless it’s making you uncomfortable. I’m the director, and you’re the young talented lead. I’d hate to make you feel like I’m preying on you. I’m not sure I’m old enough to be considered a cougar, but that’s what the tabloids will say.”
Her smile is all I need to see to tell how much she enjoys this. I wonder what I look like right now. Scared? Innocent? Young and naive?
I don’t want to be any of those things. She is so powerful, and I don’t think anything with her will be sustainable if I’m not powerful, too. So many quotes run through my mind in this moment—some from friends, others from famous people. All of them telling me that if I don’t have something, fake it until it’s real.
With faux-confidence, I move to her, take the guitar f
rom her hands and set it down on the floor as I kneel between her legs. She stares at me, waiting to see what I’m going to do, and although I might not be in her league, somehow I know she wants me, and that ignites a little piece of actual confidence within me.
I bring one of my hands up to her face to cup her cheek. I push the tips of my fingers into the soft tangles of her wild, red hair. My other hand rests on her thigh. As I search her eyes for something I can’t explain, I move my hand to her hip, then I pull her toward me until her body is pressed against mine.
I can feel her inhalation and hear the way it hitches. We’re too close for me to see her mouth, but I can tell her lips have parted. She waits for me to kiss her, but I want the power, so I make her wait.
Instead, I delight in the feel of her breasts crushed against my chest. The heat between her legs sears into my abdomen. I wonder if she is getting wet just by this innocent contact. Does she know how hard I am right now?
I breathe her air for just a moment longer before I brush my lips against hers. It’s not a kiss. It’s a sweep of flesh on flesh. Cole’s tongue moves out. I feel it against my bottom lip. With my second hand to her hip, I tighten my hold on her, our bodies even closer. It’s a move bred from the simulated confidence because this is what I think she expects, but as I bring my mouth to the curve of her neck—the place where it flows into her shoulder—my genuine confidence expands.
Her breath, which makes my hair flutter, is full of want and growing need. I gently lick and suck her delicate skin with the potent knowledge that out of everyone she could have, Collette Stroud—Hollywood star—wants me.
Slowly, I begin to bring my mouth back up her neck, over the line of her jaw, and to her mouth. Cole moves her head forward a little as she tries to gain the kiss I’ve denied her, but I move mine back just a little bit, lick my lips, and give her what I hope is a wicked smile.
She sucks in her lower lip, then bites down on it. As it slowly slips free, I can’t help but fixate on the action. I’ve proven my dominance in this moment, but now I want to be weak with her. As soon as she releases her lip, I bring it into my mouth.
It might be my imagination, but I think I can actually feel her pulse thumping in it. There is no question I need more, so I suck her bottom lip one more time before connecting with her completely.