Bliss

by Shay Mitchell

  She spun around in his arms, threw hers around his neck, and kissed him. He accepted her kiss like her food, with gusto. “Thanks for liking my food,” she said. Okay, she might’ve been flashing back to the rush she felt when James relished her cooking. Feeding people gave her a lot of satisfaction. But there were other kinds of satisfaction to be had, too.

  Aiden said, “You kiss me if I like your food? What’ll you do if I put you in charge of the menu? No, I mean it. You know what you’re doing. You know what we’re going for. We’ll do it together.”

  “Okay,” she said, registering the surge to her groin. “But I expect a raise. We’ll talk terms after.”

  “After … we fuck each other’s brains out?” he said, lifting her butt on the counter. “I’ve been hard since you said ‘fish taco.’”

  They went at it like starving people. Hungry mouths tasting each other, licking and savoring all the textures, the soft tongue, smooth teeth and swollen lips. Hungry hands skimming under clothes, grasping at skin and bones, like they were holding on for dear life.

  Aiden unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them down over her butt. Then he stripped them off her legs. They fell onto the kitchen floor.

  “Hey! Those are my favorite jeans!” Seven for all Mankind, and not cheap.

  “They look great on you,” he growled, “but even better off you.” Aiden unzipped his own pants and grabbed her thighs, lifting them around his hips before he moved in, all of him, all the way in. Demi gasped, and clasped her ankles around his broad body, feeling a bit like she was being mauled by a bear, and absolutely loving it. At some point, he’d lifted Demi clear off the counter, like she was weightless, and lay her back down from the lengthwise end so her whole body could rest on it. He leaned over her, making the entire table shake, the wares stored underneath clanging away chaotically, like the rhythm of her heartbeat as her hunger for him grew, and grew, until the sweetness came.

  A few minutes passed as they both recovered. Demi sat up, and looked around to find pots and pans all over the kitchen floor. Aiden was staring at her, grinning with wild eyes at her, nothing on his face but pure bliss.

  “You’re pretty,” he said. “Did I ever tell you that?”

  “And you’re … lucky to have me,” she said, beaming back at him, surprised by the uncomplicated joy she felt. Being with Aiden was easy, natural, just fun. Sophia would say sleeping with her boss was a recipe for disaster. But she didn’t care. She deserved this.

  “Damn right,” he said, agreeing to her spoken and unspoken thoughts.

  demi’s fish tacos

  SERVES 4

  ingredients

  red cabbage slaw (see below)

  cilantro crema (see below)

  4 fillets white fish

  salt and pepper

  cayenne pepper

  1 avocado

  12 small corn tortillas

  sriracha hot sauce

  feta or queso fresco

  RED CABBAGE SLAW

  1 head red cabbage

  1 small bunch cilantro

  1⁄3 cup lime juice

  salt and pepper

  CILANTRO CREMA

  1 bunch cilantro

  1 clove garlic

  3 tbsps veganaise or low-fat mayo

  ¼ cups nonfat greek yogurt, plain

  2 tbsps lime juice

  ½ tsp himalayn salt

  ½ tsp cayenne pepper

  instructions

  1. Start with the slaw. Thinly slice an entire red cabbage, chop a small bunch of cilantro, and put it all in a bowl with lime juice and salt and pepper to taste. Toss the ingredients and set it to the side.

  2. For the cilantro crema, add all of the ingredients into a blender or food processor and combine until there are just flecks of the cilantro and it is a nice light green color.

  3. For the fish, salt, pepper, and cayenne to taste both sides to add some flavor and heat. Either grill or bake the fish for the proper cook time.

  4. While the fish is cooking, slice the avocado into thin slices (a quarter per person, approximately 3 slices each).

  5. Once the fish is done, warm the tortillas by wrapping them in tinfoil and either sticking them on the grill or in the oven for 5 to 10 minutes.

  6. Toss the slaw a bit and make sure the cabbage is marinating in the acid of the lime juice; taste it to make sure it is seasoned correctly.

  7. Put the cilantro crema in a basic dressing bottle that you can get almost anywhere (make sure it is squeezable). If you don’t have one, put the crema into a little Ziploc bag, cut off the tip of one corner, and you have yourself a perfect piping bag.

  8. Assembly time! Start with a warm tortilla, add 1⁄3 to ¼ of the fish fillet, top with some slaw and a piece of avocado. Then drizzle on the cilantro creme and sriracha (if you like things hot), and finish with just a little crumble of feta or queso fresco.

  20

  after the bomb

  Sophia rode to work in her short-term-leased Ford Escape. She was superstitious about buying a car until she knew The Den’s fate. If she jumped the gun, and bought one now, surely the show would tank. The morning and evening rides gave her time to pull herself together before she had to act. At night, she acted to Demi like she was tired and stressed out, which was true. During the day, she acted for her costars, director, and the showrunner. No one would question that she was thrilled-beyond-thrilled to be part of the show, which she was, and the complete opposite of a diva/troublemaker/needy starlet. Her goal was to be easy and to give one hundred percent every day. She transmitted confidence. She was a positive force on set.

  Inside her own head, it was like a bomb went off, and she was trying to piece herself back together.

  The roofie maybe-rape was three weeks ago. Scott had told her to forget about it. But Sophia had been obsessed with remembering what happened. No matter how hard she tried, her mind turned to wool. She’d figured out who the actor at the bar was: Brody Reno, the star of a short-lived sitcom about an airplane pilot and his family called What’s Up? Brody played the stud-muffin teenage son. Sophia only knew about the show because her brother watched it in high school to make fun of it. Reno’s IMDB filmography began there and continued to limp along with bit parts on TV and in indie movies. She couldn’t prove that Brody had drugged the shot he gave her, although it was likely. Whatever his role, he wasn’t the guy she woke up with, but he was the only person who could shed light on her dark hours. She searched Brody’s public pages for his friend’s identity, but came up empty.

  Not knowing tormented Sophia. If she’d gotten drunk and hooked up with a stranger, she’d regret it in the morning, but that would have been her choice, her mistake. What happened at the Supperclub had put her fate into someone else’s hands without her knowledge or consent. She used to think being groped at CRUSH was dehumanizing. That was a cakewalk compared to this.

  Every day for three weeks, she thought about calling Renee. She might have seen something. Sophia was pretty sure Renee and Brody made out that night. Maybe she could get in touch with him. Sophia held off on calling, though, waiting to see if she’d get over it and stop obsessing. Even in her current mental state, Sophia was still a cocky optimist.

  But that Monday on the ride to work, she broke down and made the call.

  Renee answered. “You’re calling me,” she said. “I’m so flattered.”

  Not a good start. “How’s it going? What have you been up to?”

  “Is it about a job?”

  From the tone of her voice, Sophia got the idea that, unless it were about a job, Renee might hang up. So she lied. “I heard something. A movie. I’m giving the producer your name.”

  “That’s awesome! Tell me about it. What’s the title?”

  “I can’t say anything yet. I’ll let you know when I have more info.”

  “Cool. Thanks! I have to say, I’m surprised. Last time I saw you, you were kind of a bitch to me.”

  Sophia’s heart leapt to her throat. “About that
night. I can’t really remember what happened.”

  “You were wasted,” said Renee. “Like, falling down drunk. Not a good look on you—on anyone, but especially you. You told those guys that I was the national spokesperson for ‘old man erections.’ It wasn’t funny for the first ten times you said it, and really fucking annoying the next ten times.”

  “Sorry,” said Sophia. “I wanted to ask you, did you talk to the guy with the beard? Brown hair, big teeth?”

  “You mean the guy you were humping against the bar?”

  Oh, god. “I think someone might’ve put a roofie in my drink. I drank the wine you gave me, and did a couple shots, and then everything went blank.”

  Renee paused. “Are you accusing me of drugging you?”

  “No!” The thought had crossed Sophia’s mind, as far-fetched as it might be.

  “Jesus Christ. For the last time, Sophia, fuck you.”

  Renee hung up. Another dead end. It was possible she’d never know what happened to her that night. The private horror of wondering wasn’t going away. Sophia lost it for a few minutes. (Thank god for LA traffic.) When she pulled into the studio, she had a tenuous grip on her emotions.

  They were shooting episode 102 today. The premise: a female college professor is sexually assaulted by a male student, a football player. Valerie had an emotional scene to shoot, a flashback to when she was in college, and her boyfriend accused her of being a cheater.

  So, yeah, Sophia had to deal with that today, a scene of begging someone to forgive her for making a bad mistake.

  * * *

  “Cut,” said Henry Chapman, the episode director. “Sophia, more desperation. The love of your life is leaving you. Let’s do it again. Action.”

  Sophia as Valerie was seated at the foot of her bed. Her “boyfriend” was standing with one hand on the doorknob. He said, “You did this. You ruined everything.”

  Her line: “I messed up. You have to give me another chance.”

  On the page, the line wasn’t that exciting. But a great actor could turn it into a wrenching moment. Her character was full of regret and guilt, in abject terror of losing this man. Since regret, guilt, and fear had been dominating Sophia’s thoughts, it wasn’t difficult to bring those emotions into her eyes, her voice, and her body language.

  Then she got off the bed, and rushed to him. “Please stay,” she said, grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand away from the doorknob.

  In her heart, she was begging for relief from very real pain. Her scene partner seemed taken aback by it, and spontaneously took Sophia’s hands in his and said, “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ll stay.”

  She said, “Thank you.”

  “Cut!” yelled the director. “That was incredible, Sophia!” said Henry. The crew standing around the set applauded. “I really felt that. Great work. We need to do it again for a close-up, okay?”

  She wiped her tears and nodded. “Yes. I’m good to go.”

  “Pick it up with ‘Please stay.’ Action.”

  Sophia channeled her emotions into the second take, and the third, and kept going until the scene was done. She played it cool all the way into her dressing room, running a gauntlet of applause and congratulations from the cast and crew along the way. As soon as she was alone, she crumbled.

  When her tears subsided, she drew a few deep breaths, and put her legs up against the wall, an inversion pose from yoga that always calmed her down.

  “You got this,” she said. It might take time to work through it. But, as the saying goes, You’re only given what you can handle. She would handle this.

  Part of her knew she shouldn’t handle it alone. She had to tell someone. Another part superstitiously refused to open up. If Sophia kept the secret inside her, she’d be a better actor. Look at how Henry reacted to her scene. The crew applauded. She was proving herself to be worthy of the show. She’d turn acting into therapy, and therapy into art. Her scenes would be like a valve on a pressure cooker, letting off steam, releasing emotion, a bit at a time.

  When Cassie and Paula asked her out for a drink that night, she thought, If I were okay, I would go. So she went. They suggested the Supperclub, and she thought, If I had a great time there before, which I told them I did, I would love to go there. So she agreed. A casual observer would have seen three women at the bar, having a blast, laughing. It was exhausting for Sophia to keep her smile painted on.

  She was half asleep when she got home to Rosewood Mews. Pretending everything was fine was exhausting. If she could only remember the details, maybe she could one day forget them. She walked through the courtyard. The light was on in their apartment. Demi was home and awake. Sophia was in no mood to talk to her about her day, or listen to Demi’s stories.

  “Sophia, hold up,” said David. He emerged from his apartment just as she walked by it. Had he been watching and waiting for her to get home?

  There was no way she could deal with him now. “I’ve got a splitting headache. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “One second.”

  “What?” she snapped.

  “I just want to know what I did wrong.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then why are you blowing me off?”

  “I’m tired, David, okay? I’m working my ass off for twelve hours a day and when I finally get home, I just want to sleep. Why are you forcing me to tell you something’s wrong with you? Look, just wait until the week’s over. Don’t take it personally. It’s not you. But putting me on the spot doesn’t make it easier.”

  He deflated before her eyes. “I was worried…”

  “I’m fine. Really. I’m a big girl in big-girl pants.”

  Sophia ran up the stairs two at a time, and banged into her apartment to find Demi on the couch, a notebook on her lap and pen in her hands. “You’re home,” she said, stating the obvious, as she liked to do. It pissed her off, and gave her ammo. Usually, she’d come back at her, and they’d be bantering and laughing by now.

  “I’m going to bed.”

  “I have news,” she said. “Aiden is letting me develop the menu for Dory! It’s like a dream I didn’t know I had is coming true. I’ve always loved to cook, and I definitely have strong opinions about menus. But getting to conceptualize one from scratch, it’s lighting up new parts of my brain.”

  “Is Aiden giving you more money for this?”

  Demi looked down at her pad, away from Sophia’s eyes. “We started to discuss it but we got sidetracked.”

  “Sidetracked, how?”

  “You don’t approve?”

  “I’m sure Aiden is just awesome,” said Sophia, finding any conversation excruciating after the day she’d had, but especially the subject of Demi’s bad boyfriend choices. She could not be held responsible for whatever came out of her mouth. “He’s an older man who holds all the power in the relationship. And you’re falling right into line, turning him into some kind of hero savior who becomes the focus of your life. Sleeping with your boss, Demi? That’s be a monumental mistake.”

  “Easy, tiger,” said Demi, keeping it light. “He’s not James, not even close.”

  “Well, if it all goes to shit, you can disappear into a bottle and wait for your friends and family to pull you back out.”

  Demi’s face darkened. “Wow.” It was all she could muster.

  “Good night,” said Sophia. She left the living room, and went directly into her room and locked the door.

  Demi knocked on it, hard. “Open this door.”

  Sophia ignored her.

  “We need to talk about all those tests in the trash and the way you’ve been acting. I know something happened. You have to talk to me. Open this fucking door.”

  The knocking and imploring continued for ten minutes, which felt like hours to Sophia. She just couldn’t let Demi in. The door had to stay shut. If she opened up about her feelings and fears, it would be impossible to maintain any control of them. When Demi stopped knocking, the apartment became oppressively quiet. Soph
ia lay on her bed in savasana, palms up to receive gifts from the universe. She repeated her mantra, “You got this, you got this,” until she stopped thinking at all.

  21

  a whipped cream emergency

  It’d taken an hour in LA traffic to get from Harris’s mansion in the Valley to Red O restaurant on Melrose Avenue. He sulked when she told him about her plans to have dinner with Sophia. He missed her terribly when they were apart, but for a couple of hours he’d just have to survive without her.

  Red O turned out to be a Mexican restaurant where you felt like you’re on vacation. A perfect place for cocktails with the girls. Inside, Leandra felt right at home. Everything, from the paint, seat covers, cushions, tablecloths, lighting, and fixtures, was gold. It was like walking into Fort Knox. The surfaces glittered. The light flattered her tanned skin, white-blond dye job, and rose gold jewelry. She caught her reflection in a gold-framed mirror and knew she had never looked sexier, as if her entire shopping and pampering life had been leading up to this moment.

  Leandra followed the maître d’, walking like she owned the place. Eyes followed her as she walked, as well they should. She kept her smile to herself, not sharing it with any of her admirers, just because.

  She spotted Sophia in a cushioned booth table in front of a golden backlit bar with dozens of bottles of tequila. She could pick her out of any crowd, but her old friend jumped up and ran toward Leandra, wrapping her in a tight hug. “You made it!” Leandra melted into Sophia’s arms. It’d been months since she’d had physical contact with a female and it felt great.

  As exhilarating as it was to get a hug from Sophia, it was annoying to see Demi, also seated at their table. From the expression on Demi’s face, she was just as surprised to see Leandra. Sophia had set them up, springing the reunion on them. Leandra put on her game face, which was as lacquered and placid as her basic bitch face. Demi, not nearly as skilled at hiding her emotions, looked like she could gnaw through her fork.

  “You look amazing, Leandra,” said Sophia. “Are those Louboutin boots?” Uh-huh and they retailed for $1,500, but price was of no concern for Harris.