by Lisa Ferrari
I collect my 30s from the floor and return them to the rack. I put my hands on the 40s.
“No way, Jose!” Kellan calls. “I went up from sixty to eighty. You’re going from thirty to forty? I thought you wanted to stay ahead of Calista.”
I do. More than anything. I move over to the 50s. A 20-pound increase. Now I’m scared.
“That a girl. Thirty seconds.” Kellan burps. He lifts his leg and farts audibly. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay.” My stomach is rumbling a bit, too. “I think it’s the spumoni.”
“Time.” Kellan grabs his 80s and begins lunging toward the door.
I grab the 50s. They’re not the heaviest dumbbells I’ve ever used, but they’re going to be a challenge, I can tell.
I follow Kellan out of the gym, down the hall, through the living room, and out the door to the pool, lunging all the way.
I can already feel the muscles deep inside my butt and groin working, a deep burn. By the time I’ve completed one lap around the pool, it’s burning so bad my clit is quivering. It almost feels good. Like Phoebe doing one mile on a hippity-hop for her 30th birthday, which was of course actually her 31st birthday, but the point is that she did one mile on a hippity-hop bouncy ball, noting the woman-pleasing characteristics of bouncing on such a ball, which Rachel then appropriated for her own pseudo-fitness regime.
Claire, focus.
It’s amazing how one’s mind drifts during physical activity.
I follow Kellan around the pool, one, two, three times. Instead of lunging into the house and down the hall to the gym, Kellan says that’s enough and we collapse on the cool grass, huffing and puffing. I’m hoping I don’t barf. Kellan held my hair for me while I puked after getting sufficiently drunk to sing karaoke at the Glass Turtle several months ago. But I don’t particularly want to hurl right now in front of him on the lawn.
After a few minutes, when we’re both certain we’re not going to vomit (mostly), we crawl to the Jacuzzi, undress, and crawl naked into the water, where we soak for the next two hours.
Neither of us speaks much. I think we’re both lost in thought, thinking about the move tomorrow and all that which lies ahead. I know I am. I think Kellan is, too.
The great thing about it is that it’s okay that we’re both quiet. I don’t feel compelled, as Mrs. Mia Wallace put it in Pulp Fiction, to yack about bullshit in order to be comfortable. And I know Kellan is the same.
So, instead, we float side by side, holding hands, staring up at the sky as the stars come out, content to be together.
EVENTUALLY, WE GET out of the spa and pack our suitcases once more. Kellan puts everything he wants to take in the garage so he can open the door in the morning and transfer it quickly into the rental truck.
We brush our teeth and get into bed.
Later, sometime during the night, I awaken to find Kellan’s tongue in my mouth and his hands caressing my body. We’re both naked and Kellan eases himself on top of me. I spread my legs and his erection glides inside me.
Waking from a peaceful sleep and void of thoughts about our day or the coming events, I’m suddenly and surprisingly horny. I want Kellan so very much.
We kiss passionately, turning our heads side to side, hungry for each other, moaning all the while.
Kellan holds my head in his hands, kissing me, while he presses his hips against me. He’s so deep.
I desperately want to come. I desperately want him to quicken his pace, to make love to me fast and hard. I want him to fuck me, like he did in my apartment this afternoon.
I reach down with both hands and grab Kellan’s ass and squeeze, digging my fingers into his firm buns. I pull him rapidly against me several times.
Ever the mind reader, Kellan picks up the pace and starts pounding me like a jackrabbit.
I moan against Kellan’s mouth as he fills me up.
“Come inside me.”
“Oh God yes Claire…”
Kellan pushes himself up on his hands, looking down at me.
We both look down to watch his huge erection going inside me. Kellan withdraws and slides it slowly up and down against my clitoris a few times, so I can take a nice long look at it, to see how thick and big it is. He eases himself inside me and resumes thrusting.
I reach down and furiously work my clitoris. I want to come so badly.
“Oh yes, Claire. I love it when you touch yourself.”
Encouraged, I use my other hand to spread myself open for him while I work my clit.
“Come, Claire… Come while I’m fucking you.”
“Oh God Kellan yes.”
And I come so hard I can’t breathe, I can’t keep my eyes open, even though I’d like to so I can continue to watch Kellan make love to me.
“I can feel you coming, Claire. I feel you coming on my cock. You’re getting wetter. I’m going to come, Claire.”
“Pull out and come all over me.” Suddenly I want to see Kellan’s beautiful cock erupt.
Kellan thrusts for another thirty seconds or so, moaning louder and louder. He pulls out and I seize his penis in my hand, squeezing and jerking it as fast as I can.
Seconds later, he explodes. It’s a bit dark, but I can make out several long ropes of semen as they shoot out of him. I feel them land on my nude body, my breasts and stomach, my chin, so hot.
I stroke Kellan vigorously for what I estimate to be nearly a minute. I watch him as he squirms and writhes, his eyes closed and his head back and his mouth open, overcome by his own orgasm.
He squirms and twists sides to side. His entire body convulses as each aftershock ripples through him.
I gradually slow my pace, trying to match the dissipation of his orgasm.
Kellan at last collapses next to me, breathing heavily.
I’m covered in semen.
I smear it all over my body, all over my breasts, my nipples, all over my abs and down between my thighs.
“You like having my semen on you?”
“I love it.”
Kellan leans close and kisses me, long and hard.
He pulls back and looks into my eyes. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Chapter 18
IN THE MORNING, we get up, do 40 minutes of cardio, shower, dress, eat, load up the truck, and prepare to head out of town.
A rig arrives to take the Mr. Beaumont. Kellan helps the driver load it up and away it goes.
Kellan’s assistant, Josh, is dropped off by a friend. Josh drives the rental truck and Kellan rides shotgun with me in the little red Solstice.
At last we are on the freeway, driving with the top down and the heater on full blast. Kellan says we may need to buy an SUV or something once we get down there because how will we carry groceries and stuff? The Aventador and the Solstice are fantastic and beautiful and fun to drive but the fact is they’re rather low on practicality due largely in part to their virtually nonexistent cargo carrying ability.
“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” I say. I’m scared to say it out loud but it also feels good to confess, to get my concern off my chest.
“Heck yeah we’re doing it. And we’re going to enjoy every minute of it. Right?”
“Right.”
We have the top down, the wind is in our hair, and it feels like the beginning of a magical journey together.
And I don’t give a flying Fig Newton about my parents and their apparent disinterest and their monumentally bullshit disapproval.
Whatever.
It’s my life.
They have their lives and I have mine.
And if they don’t like it, tough. I’m with Kellan now. He put a ring on my finger. We’re engaged. He’s my fiancée. I’m his fiancée. His bride to be.
Wow.
Talk about a whirlwind.
AFTER THREE STOPS to gas up the Solstice and the rental truck and to eat and stretch and get coffee and energy drinks
and to pee out the ones we drank two hours earlier, we’re nearing Los Angeles.
When we go up the Grapevine, up the steep grade, we slow way, way down in order not to leave Josh and the rental truck behind.
But the rental truck does all right. Josh is able to keep it around 60 and eventually the ground flattens out.
I get excited when we reach Valencia and drive past Magic Mountain. It’s the amusement park Wally World in which they filmed National Lampoon’s Vacation, one of my all-time favorite comedies. I saw it when I was about ten. The mild profanity and brief nudity and adult situations made me feel more grown up for having seen it.
Kellan says we’ll definitely have to drive up to Magic Mountain for the day and ride all the rides before we start filming and wind up on location somewhere in Iceland or South Africa or the Australian Outback.
We continue down the 405 freeway and exit on Sunset, heading east. Kellan points out UCLA and the beautiful homes of Bel Air.
We drive through West Hollywood and past the Crow Bar where Kellan and I had our first reading of the screenplay for the now notorious Billion-Dollar Movie.
We head up into the hills and arrive, at last, at our new place.
Josh and Kellan unload the big boxes from the truck while I carry the smaller stuff.
When it’s empty, Kellan hands Josh a wad of cash. I can’t see how much it is but Josh’s eyes light up and he hugs Kellan. Josh departs to return the rental truck and make his way to LAX to fly home.
Kellan gets the router set up and the Wi-Fi going. He goes online and finds a car dealer and we drive over to Culver City, where we pass the Sony Pictures lot. It’s very exciting.
Kellan shows me the black Range Rover Sport he saw online. It’s nice. Really nice. Kellan buys it.
An hour later, we’re on our way to Whole Foods where we go on an untamed shopping spree. I’ve always wanted to go completely ape-poop buying yummy, healthy food at Whole Foods.
Pretty much the one and only time I shopped there, I hit the salad bar and filled up one of their brown cardboard boxes, excited and proud of myself for eating my vegetables and being healthy.
When I got to the register and paid for the salad, the nice checker girl weighed it and said it was $22.
For salad.
Apparently, much to my surprise and profound horror (not to mention my utter humiliation, which we’ll get to in a moment), the g.d. salad bar was like $7.99 per pound and I’d loaded up on heavy stuff like artichoke hearts and baby corn and beets.
Thus, $22.
I had budgeted for, like, $5.
I knew I didn’t have enough money in my account, not until Friday. If I swiped my card and paid for the salad, my account would become overdrawn and the bank would hit me with a $34 overdraft charge.
But there were people behind me, waiting to pay for their stuff so they could get on with their busy lives, which the chunky girl in front of them was keeping them from.
So, in a moment of shame which brought me nearly to tears, I swiped my card. I paid for the salad. I was too humiliated to explain that I didn’t have the money; or to simply flee, to run out the door; anything.
I paid. The transaction went through, I went out to my hot, filthy, insect-encrusted car and ate my $56 salad; and spilled beet juice on the front of my tuxedo work shirt, a stain which never fully came out, causing me to occasionally dab white-out on it.
Thus is my history with Whole Foods.
Ergo, I’ve long been hopeful for a fun and frivolous shopping experience that would replace the previous one.
Today is the day.
Kellan and I decide to completely stock the kitchen. I don’t tell him about the $56 salad; but he senses my reticence and tells me to grab anything and everything I want. At first, I’m a bit timid, but within a few minutes the girl who spent fifty-six bucks on salad is grabbing healthy stuff from everywhere and loading it into the shopping cart, until the cart is bulging nearly to the point of overflowing.
We’re in the store for an hour and a half and the bags fill most of the Range Rover’s cargo area and the rear seats.
We caravan home and unload it all.
My red Pontiac looks awesome in the courtyard beside the black Range Rover. I snap a pic of them on my phone. I can’t wait for the Mr. Beaumont to arrive later. That will round out our collection beautifully.
Kellan asks me if I’d rather have a Range Rover instead of my Solstice, maybe a pretty white Evoque, which is smaller than the Sport and more manageable, as well as being very elegant, partly at least because Victoria Beckham assisted with the styling. Kellan points out that it would be more practical.
I adamantly refuse. I love my little red car. Not only because it’s gorgeous but also because I feel as though it represents me well. Plus it was a gift from Kellan. I treasure it. I don’t want to sell it or trade it in. Ever.
Kellan smiles and kisses me and we go inside to arrange the $850 worth of groceries in our new kitchen. The gorgeous (and massive) refrigerator has French doors, with the freezer on the bottom, and cool-looking LED lights inside. The fridge is now full of healthy food, as well as our stash of cannabis edibles, which we have yet to try. The basket Roger and Hera sent with the old-fashioned smokable pot is in the pantry.
By the time we finish arranging the groceries and we get our clothes unpacked and I get all my beloved books out of the boxes and onto the shelves, the truck driver calls to tell Kellan he’s arrived. They agree to meet at a Wal-Mart parking lot to unload because there’s no way that big truck can wind its way up to our house.
Kellan and I take the new Range Rover over to meet him. He unloads the car, Kellan gives him a wad of cash (his eyes light up the way Josh’s did), and we drive back to our new place.
It’s my first time behind the wheel of the Range Rover, or any SUV for that matter, and I love it. I’m up high and I can see really well. But it’s also fast and sporty and has a ton of power.
Kellan parks beside my Pontiac and I park on the other side as the tall privacy gate slides shut, giving us our privacy from the outside world.
I get out and survey the three vehicles.
There. That does it.
I snap another pic.
We then geek out completely and take a bunch of selfies with the cars, then in the garage, then all over the house, including the wine cellar. Kellan lets the door close behind us and I scream, but it’s too late: the door is already latched and we’re locked in.
“No, we’re not,” Kellan says. “I had it fixed.” He opens the door. The handle works perfectly. It makes me feel much better knowing I can’t be trapped somewhere in my own home.
WE PREPARE A scrumptious meal of salmon sautéed in garlic and lemon juice, and steamed broccoli. Kellan points out that after going crazy with our nutrition at the Del Coronado courtesy of our main man Manny, it’s imperative that we get back to strict adherence to our usual eating regimen, and that includes cutting back on the carbs for a week or so, because we need to stay sharp for our new job.
At first I don’t understand what Kellan is referring to; what new job?
Then I remember: the movie.
The Billion-Dollar Movie.
We’re eating outside, by the pool, overlooking the city. The view looks like a friggin mural, as if it’s not real, and every time I look up and see it, I must remind myself where we are and how we got here.
The movie.
My stomach begins to tighten up. I feel my appetite waning, like Mexican food out of Denise’s butt.
Gross.
But I remind myself that everything is fine; I’m here with Kellan; we got the parts in the movie; and all is well.
Kellan points out the buildings in downtown L.A, which we can see from here. The tallest one, a round white skyscraper, is the U.S. Bank building. Kellan adds that any time he watches a football game on TV, they always have a really cool, very beautiful shot of the city from the air, and no
matter where it is, in which city around the country, whether it be L.A. or New York or Dallas or Miami, the biggest buildings always have the names of banks on them. He says it always makes him think that perhaps he should’ve studied banking or finance or law.
That makes two of us. I was pre-med all through high school and my first year of college. Then I switched to English Literature because I believed I was put on this earth to be a writer; it was my calling; it always has been and remains so to this day, income and prestige be damned. My parents flipped, of course. They offered no support whatsoever. It’s no wonder I’ve been struggling ever since then, when my own parents mock and scoff at my dreams.
After hearing Kellan’s admission, I work up the courage to share the $56-Whole-Foods-Salad-Fiasco with him. He listens patiently. When I’ve finished, he tells me how a similar thing happened to him once; he ran all over town buying small items, not knowing he’d allowed his account to be overdrawn. When he got his statement, the bank had hit him with six overdraft fees. But, instead of paying it, the way I did, he called the bank and raised hell. They voided the overdraft charges as a one-time courtesy service, Kellan had them switch the account settings so that if there was insufficient funds in the account, the transaction would simply not go through, thereby avoiding any future overdraft fees. (That’s what I should have done!) Kellan explains that that was the low point in his life. He was tired of being broke and tired of having to deal with crap like that; so that was when he got serious about putting real effort into his businesses every day. That meant putting more time into his training, more time into his nutrition in order to maximize the training, and more time into his supplement company. The effort paid off because that was the year he won his first show and got his pro card.
I ask what is a pro card.
Kellan explains that bodybuilders and fitness professionals compete in shows in order to display their physique and all their hard work. In addition to the prize money, the winners can get very, very, very lucrative endorsement contracts from supplement companies and apparel companies, because the fitness industry is something like a $10-billion-per-year industry. Which is why he decided to begin making money off of it rather than merely dumping money into it.