I’d downed four Red Bulls between Illinois and Pennsylvania, and there was no way the shit I’d done Wednesday was still messing with my mind. This was real. This perfect girl, with wide blue eyes and snowy skin and the perkiest tits that I’d ever seen was perched on the countertop, swinging her long legs in jeans that were cut off shorter than their pockets.
The crimson flush that turned her pale skin to fire, combined with her shaking voice that attempted to be confident, told me that Robin was right. She was absolutely as naïve as she seemed.
There were a million ways that I would completely fuck this girl up.
Yes, Kelsey had been screwing someone else. Yes, it was in our bed, and yes, I grabbed my gun and almost blew away the cocksucker nailing her in my bedroom. Instead, I beat on his face for a while, and then spent the night in jail and thousands in legal fees.
After she left, she filed for divorce, and I did everything that I could to make the process a nightmare for the lying whore.
I met Kelsey the first week I moved to Hollywood. I was nineteen, pissed off at the world, and determined to make the kind of movies that were worthy enough to sit on a video store shelf next to Clint Eastwood. I drove away from the cemetery just after my grandfather’s funeral and didn’t stop until I reached California. Changing my last name from ‘Thorne’ to ‘Thane’ was my asshole way of giving the finger to everyone back home. Even though I found an apartment immediately, I knew that if I didn’t find a job soon, I’d blow through the inheritance from my grandfather in just rent alone.
Kelsey was tall, blonde, and, thanks to an ex-boyfriend, silicone-enhanced. She was a far cry from the homegrown brunettes I’d dated (screwed) through high school, and I was instantly at her mercy. I spent too much money on a diamond, slipped it on her finger, and vowed to honor and cherish her for the rest of my life. We were insatiable-the first time we fucked it blew me apart, and I knew I was in for the ride of my life.
Until I found her riding her boss.
Winning an Oscar for directing Dominate had been the highest point in my career. I worked my ass off to make that documentary, and definitely paid my dues. When I became the youngest director to ever win an Oscar at twenty-five, I was tempted to go back home, just to prove to my family that I was nothing like my asshole father. Instead, I dove right back into work, night and day, determined to make more money than Kelsey was spending.
I’d finally had scripts coming at me that were worth a damn, and I began negotiating Tonic, a potential summer blockbuster starring Will Smith. July plus Will Smith plus action equaled a rocket to popularity, but the script definitely lacked the potential for the classic prestige of Oliver Stone or Martin Scorsese filmmaking.
And then I pulled a gun on the prick in my bed, the prick who was fucking my wife. And I lost the script.
I was careening off the rails and I knew it. My house in the Palisades was nearing foreclosure simply because I stopped paying the mortgage for Kelsey to live there. I’d saved my ass off over the past seven years, and refused to spend another dime putting a roof over my slut wife’s head. My new apartment was a revolving door for actresses that were trying to fuck their way to the top.
I couldn’t be closer to rock bottom.
Only within the last few weeks had a couple of scripts come across my desk, and after settling on one low-budget production, I decided this two-week hiatus for Luke’s wedding was just what I needed to sober up and get back on track. I had to fit some business in before I left; I had my eye on Idlewild Park for the film’s shooting locale, which was nostalgically my old stomping ground as a kid.
The thriller would need to be filmed in an amusement park, and I had a meeting with the park owners on Monday morning before I left to go back to California.
On the trip across the country from California, I had deliberately driven to Colorado to spend three days getting completely wasted with a buddy of mine from high school, so, yeah. My plan wasn’t going well.
My brother had come to stay with me on and off over the years. My mother and Robin refused to fly, so aside from the quarterly phone calls each year, I rarely spoke to either of them.
Robin, Luke, and my mom understood that Kelsey and I were separated, and thanks to mass media, only Robin and Luke knew why. My mother was oblivious to Hollywood gossip, and I was damn thankful, because lately all of the press had made me into the biggest man-whore to ever exist.
But I was envied in their small town. I got out, and I got famous. Most people were jealous of the illusion of the rich, Hollywood life.
And I planned to keep it that way.
“Your divorce final yet?”
“No.”
She huffed. “No way Viv agreed to go to the wedding with you. She has to run the store anyway.”
“You’ll have to close the store, Robin. She’s coming with me. Don’t worry, I’ll cover your losses.”
“You ass. Don’t throw your money around at me.”
“I’m taking your employee for the weekend, and the least I can do is pay for any estimated revenue.”
“The weekend?” She choked. “Goddamnit Keaton, I’m serious, leave her alone. She’s been through some shit. Just because you screwed every girl in high school-…,” she cut off to talk to someone for a second before turning back to the phone. “You’re too fucked up for her.”
“What has she been through?” Vivian’s wide, blue eyes flashed through my mind, her upturned lip full and pouty as she warded off every one of my attempts to rile her.
“Never mind! Now, get in your car and drive to the house. I’m calling Vivian and if you’re still at the store-…,”
“I’ll see you later tonight,” I disconnected before she could continue her idle threats. Vivian was already pulling back into the parking lot, and I silenced my phone before slipping it into my pocket.
She climbed out of the Cadillac, casting a hesitant glance my way before closing the door. “You waited,” she breathed, incredulous.
Legs. All legs. Whether it was a combination of the sucker/ porn scene earlier, the fact that I hadn’t gotten laid in weeks, or that she was tugging on her goddamn ponytail again (which I found abnormally endearing) my dick twitched in my pants.
Shiiit. Robin was right, and I knew it. I’m in a bad place right now, and I’ll take anyone I touch right down with me if I keep this up. No complications.
“You can close up the store for the night. I just talked to Robin,” I gestured to my car, attempting to keep my eyes from roaming over her body again. “Now, business. Come on into my office.”
She jangled her keys in her hand for a moment, looking back and forth between me and my car. I’d have given anything to hear her thoughts, but I was guessing that they had to do with mace and a rape whistle. Finally, she tugged on her hair (again-so fucking cute) and walked to the car. I held the door open for her, and she stopped, lifting her face to mine. “You know, normally when Hollywood directors say ‘hey little girl, come climb in my Ferrari, I have a job for you,’ it doesn’t end well.”
Her breath smelled like a cherry lollipop. Some nineties song about sex and candy soundtracked my instant hard-on. I slammed the door, maybe too forcefully, gesturing to the picnic table next to the trailer.
“You’re right,” I admitted. If she got in my car, who were we kidding, I’d have her shorts off before I could shift into reverse. “And that’s not my intent. Here, let’s sit at the table.”
She seemed relieved, shrugging again and moving to the splintered old bench. “Robin really said to close early?”
I sat across from her rather than next to her, focused on those telling eyes of hers. “Don’t worry about the store.”
“I have to worry about the store. This is my primary income. I can’t lose this job.”
Her mannerisms, the proofreading, and her vocabulary-everything about her told me that she was too far intelligent to be dressed like Daisy Duke, renting out porn to the locals.
“Robin has decided
to close the store for the weekend.”
I watched her face fall. “Really? It’s Fourth of July tomorrow. People are visiting-we could make more this weekend.”
How Redbox hadn’t already plunked itself down at the Uni-Mart across the street was beyond me. I knew that the store was all about Robin and her pride, but from a business standpoint, she was going under-and fast. She was selling candy and other novelties there, but there was no way it’d stay afloat much longer.
“Like I said, I have another job for you. If you’re willing to listen to the terms.”
“Is it an acting job?” She asked quickly. “I almost have an acting degree, and I have some stage experience… I have a resume, if you need one?”
“Yes, it’s acting, and no, I don’t need your resume.” I tugged on my shirt. It was humid, and I needed a cold shower-for more reasons than one. “Vivian, I’ll be honest with you. I haven’t seen my family in seven years. I left this town when I was nineteen. I didn’t plan to come back.”
“Robin told me a little about that. That your mom had some problems,” she admitted, and I appreciated her couth. She could have said ‘your mom was the town drunk,’ which would have been the truth.
Obviously, this girl had class.
Like her name.
I went with my thought process without thinking it through, which was often a bad idea. My internal filter was a work in progress.
“Right. Well, I’m guessing you’ve seen Pretty Woman. Since she’s your namesake. Am I right?”
She was thrown for a moment. “Um…yes?”
I slipped into director mode and went for the pitch. “Well, like Richard Gere tells her-he needs an escort. A professional. An actress. I need an escort. For the weekend. I’m going through a divorce, and I have a reputation to uphold here. I know almost everyone who will be at this wedding.”
(And fucked the female half.)
I felt like she was rifling around in my brain, and her sarcastic glare turned into an eye roll. “How nice for you.”
I smirked. “I don’t need any… complications. I’d like to employ you to be my escort.”
She stared at me, and I waited for her to digest my words.
Then I waited for the sting on my cheek to dissipate as her hand collided with my face.
“I’m not a fucking prostitute!” She nearly made it to the front of the trailer before I could stop her. “Wow. Unfuckingbelievable. Robin told me that you were an asshole. I guess some things never change.”
“No, no, Vivian,” I cringed, following her. “I don’t mean sex. I mean an escort, minus the sex. Just a part to play. Be my date for the weekend. Convincing. I want my mom to see all of her children happy. For once.”
“What, you mean for the dinner tomorrow, and the wedding?” She was still fuming, and the flush ran all the way over her chest in bright, red blotches. She reminded me of a sexy little bee, buzzing around me, ready to sting me at any moment.
“Listen.” I needed to recover-fast. I was sounding like numero uno douchebag. “You don’t know me, I don’t know you. In no way am I asking you to sleep with me for money. I’m asking you to play the part of my date for the weekend. Yes, the dinner, the ceremony, the reception, and the family breakfast on Sunday. I need to be on my best behavior this weekend, not get wasted and make an ass of myself at this wedding. And to be honest, that’s where I’m headed.”
Her reproving once-over, combined with the fact that she was so damn small compared to me, was completely castrating.
“You’re an adult. Are you seriously telling me that you have no self-control?”
Brutal.
Fine, I’ll take it. Deserved.
Lowering my voice, I played the pity card. “I’ve been in a really low place in my life lately, and I don’t want to bring my shit to my little brother’s wedding. I don’t need to get loaded and fuck the bride’s sister. I need a… conscience.”
To her credit, she listened without interrupting-or slapping me again.
“So, let me get this straight.” She plunked her hands on her hips, arching one eyebrow. “You want to pay me-to babysit you. You want to employ me to be your nanny.”
“Yes. Forget Pretty Woman. More like- Mary Poppins.”
She cringed, and then rolled her beautiful eyes. “You could get any girl you want for free.”
She was relenting. I could feel her calming down. Mental note-hell of a temper. “That’s just it. I don’t want to ‘get a girl.’ I want to go home and resume my nosedive without any obligations. And I want to leave here as envied as I came.”
“Wow. That is some ego.” She glared at me. “If you think for one second that this whole contrived bullshit ‘job offer’ is going to get you laid-by me- you’re out of your mind. It’s overdone. It’s clichéd. It’s despicable.”
I softened my voice, tempted to kiss the thesaurus right out of her.
Instead, I pulled out my most professional tone. “I respect you. You seem like a good girl, and you’re going somewhere. Somewhere out of this little town. You can consider this experience. I may be able to get you some work in LA… if you have actual skills.”
“How much?”
I closed my mouth, a little surprised that she didn’t ask me to elaborate. “Round figure? I don’t want to insult you. Make me an offer.”
She lifted her eyes to the evening sky, and I could almost see the equations floating around on her mental chalkboard, Good Will Hunting style. “Three days?”
“And two nights.” Her eyes turned angry blue, like the center of a flame, and I held my palm up quickly. “Only because we’ll be two hours away, in Pittsburgh, at the hotel. And you’ll have your own room,” I added, my cheek already anticipating another perfunctory assault.
Her little jaw stiffened, and she scowled deeply. “Three days, two nights.”
“And costumes. I don’t expect you to have gowns lining your closet for this occasion.”
“Costumes?” She mocked. I shrugged.
“This is a job. I’m trying to be professional here. I’m not handing over my credit card and offering you a new wardrobe. Just costumes to fit the part. Include that in your calculation.”
Her full lips twisted into an irritated pout, but then she resumed her animated thinking.
Finally, she lowered her lashes, meeting my eyes. “Two hundred dollars.”
I froze.
Don’t speak. Think.
What did the court-mandated anger management counselor say?
Filter. Filter. Filter.
“Two hundred.” I clarified.
She reached for her ponytail, fiddling with the long, auburn strands at her collarbone. I wondered how thick her hair was. It had to be past her waist, given the length of her ponytail-
“Yes.” She answered me, jolting me out of my fixated stare.
“No. That’s not enough. The gown alone will cost over two hundred.” I rubbed my chin, pretending to consider. I knew that it didn’t matter what amount she threw at me, I’d cover it. I was balls deep in this scenario now, and there was no way I was letting her go, now that she was interested. “One thousand for clothe-costumes. And two grand for the weekend.”
Her mouth fell open. After endless minutes of silence, she finally spoke. Her voice cracked adorably. “But… he paid her three thousand-for an entire week.”
Who…? I finally realized that she was referring to Richard Gere.
I shrugged. “That was over twenty years ago. Inflation, Vivian.”
She took a brave step toward me. I followed the strap of her tank top, unable to pull my eyes away from the gap between the material and soft dip in her shoulder. Her skin was flawless, creamy, like milk and honey, not broiled like most of the LA wannabe actresses flooding in and out of my office every day.
Her voice drew my attention. How long was she talking while I stared at her shoulder? “But she was sleeping with him, Keaton.”
My name… on her lips. Hot. Focus. Exhaling slowly, I t
ried my damndest to force blood back to my brain. A couple hours back in this town, and I was reverting to sex-crazed high-school bullshit. I’m twenty-six goddamn years old. “I’m not propositioning you for sex. That is immoral, and illegal, and I have more respect for you than that. Are we clear?”
She nodded quickly, and I noted her eager response to my authoritative tone. This was the same attitude I used with reluctant actors and actresses, so I went with it.
“If you agree, then we’ll go get you a dress in the morning, as well as clothes for the dinner and the Sunday brunch. I’ll fill you in on my family, and make arrangements for another hotel room. Dinner, wedding, brunch. That’s it. Three grand-including clothing.”
While her wheels turned, I felt a twinge of guilt for a reason that I couldn’t quite place. Did I want to fuck her? Of course. Was I going to? Hell no. Robin was right-she was different-innocent- maybe even a virgin. There was no way I wanted that kind of responsibility-nor could I handle that kind of responsibility at this point in my life.
She finally took a deep breath, lifting her chin and meeting my eyes.
“Yes.”
“Yes?” I almost couldn’t believe the word came from her mouth.
Her smile turned polite, and she held out her hand. “Yes, Keaton.”
Those two words combined, coming from her perfect lips, did me in. I nearly forgot how young she was, or how fucked up I was, or the fact that’d I’d only known her for an hour of our lifetimes. I wanted her mouth on mine.
And I was sure that I was going to pay for it.
She extended her hand further to shake, and as she did, the crack of fireworks from behind her jolted her forward, right into my arms. I caught her, grinning as the amateur explosion of color over our heads lit her eyes with diamonds.
“Well, that’s one hell of a yes,” I mused, setting her back on her feet and reaching for her handshake.
The Help
Below Unforgiven Page 3