All My Tomorrows

by Colette L. Saucier

  “So what do you have here?”

  The waitress pointed them out. “Grape crush, sex on the beach, lemondrop...”

  “I like sex on the beach.” Then he looked straight at Alice. “How ‘bout you?”

  “How about a body shot?” the waitress asked as she pulled out the test tube.

  “How would that work?”

  “Well, I could put it here,” she said pointing to her cleavage, “or you could drink it from my mouth or…wherever.”

  The others at the table called out their encouragement, but Peter shook his head and took the test tube and drank it back. The others groaned and Dirk called him a chicken.

  “That’s exactly the thing that would wind up on the front page of the tabloids,” Peter said.

  “I’ll do it,” Alice said and stood up.

  Peter raised his eyebrows to her then looked again at the tubes. “All right, Miss McGillicutty, I will pick one out for you. What is this one?”

  “Love potion number two,” the shot girl said.

  “Perfect.” He pulled out the tube and handed it to Alice.

  “How do you want it?” the waitress asked her.

  “Mouth is fine.”

  The girl took the shot and placed it in her mouth, she and Alice locked lips, and with a quick twist they separated, with Alice holding the empty test tube in her teeth. She shrugged at the cheers of Eileen, Evan, and Dirk. Then she tossed the tube to Peter, who sat silently smiling.

  “Any more?” asked the girl.

  “No more of those,” Peter said. “I think we need real shots. What kind of tequila do you have?”

  After the first round of salt/shot/lime, they pulled Alice inside where the strains of karaoke music echoed throughout the crowded bar. A table had been held for them, and their appearance provoked points and stares, which Peter ignored. Somehow Alice ended up between Peter and Dirk, but after the next round of salt/shot/lime, she didn’t care.

  Then the moment she had dreaded arrived – karaoke. Eileen and Evan begged and cajoled, but she wouldn’t budge. They were the first of them to go on stage with a ridiculous rendition of “I Got You, Babe” that had the audience howling.

  Later, as Eileen and Dirk launched into “Summer Nights,” Peter said something to Alice, but she couldn’t hear.

  “WHAT?”

  “I ASKED IF YOU FINISHED YOUR BOOK,” he said over the noise.

  “HOW DID YOU KNOW I WAS WRITING A BOOK?”

  “YOU’RE WRITING A BOOK?”

  “ISN’T EVERYONE?”

  “WHAT’S IT ABOUT?”

  “I’M NOT GOING TO SCREAM OUT THE PLOT LIKE THIS.”

  “I ACTUALLY MEANT THE BOOK YOU WERE READING. THE EDGE OF DARKNESS.”

  “OH. ALMOST. I’VE BEEN READING IT MAINLY FOR WORK, FOR INSPIRATION.”

  Eileen and Dirk finished their song to raucous applause.

  “ARE YOU READY FOR ANOTHER ROUND?” Peter asked Alice.

  “YOU’RE DOING IT AGAIN.”

  “WHAT?”

  “TRYING TO GET ME DRUNK. IT WON’T WORK.”

  He shook his head. “NO. NOT YOU. IT’S FOR ME.”

  The noise abated somewhat while the emcee chatted with the next performers.

  “Why do you want to get drunk?”

  “Not drunk. Just courage.” He reached out and wrapped one of her curls around his finger, watching as he played with her hair before bringing his gaze to her eyes.

  “Why do you need courage?”

  He leaned over and put his mouth to her ear. “I need to talk to you about something, Alice.” His lips grazed her ear as he spoke and made her shiver. “Just talk. I want to ask you something. Will you let me? Can I talk to you tonight?” He pulled back and peered at her awaiting her answer.

  Eileen appeared before them, grabbed Alice’s hand, and pulled her up. “No more excuses. You are going to sing with me – now!” Alice followed her to the stage as if sleepwalking. Just talk. What does he want to talk to me about? It must be the lawsuit!

  After Alice, Eileen, and Evan belted out “When Will I Be Loved,” Evan forced Alice into “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” even though she had always hated that song. Evan’s boisterous imitation of Elton John had everyone laughing.

  “That was…interesting,” Peter said when she returned.

  “I don’t see you up there,” Alice said standing over him. “When are you going to enthrall us all with your song?” The others joined her in the peer pressure.

  “I’m not sure I want to see that on the tabloids either,” he said, but they wouldn’t let up. Finally he stood up and the others applauded. “Okay, I will under one condition.” With his eyes on Alice, he said, “If you sing with me.”

  “Oh, no! I don’t want to be part of your tabloid shame.”

  “C’mon, you sang with them. You can sing with me.”

  Dirk said, “Pete, if she doesn’t want to, leave her alone.”

  “Just one song.”

  “And after hearing me, you still want me to sing with you?”

  “You have an incredible voice. That’s why I need you.”

  Does he always have to look at me with those eyes? She relented. “One song – but it depends on what you pick. None of those sappy singers.”

  Peter ran over and checked with the stage for a few minutes then returned. “How about Ozzy Osborne?”

  She chuckled. “Seriously? Black Sabbath Ozzy? That’s what you want to sing.”

  “I will if you will.”

  “I can probably sing metal.” What Ozzy song would they have for karaoke? Maybe “No More Tears”?

  He took her hand and pulled her toward the stage as the gathered crowd parted like the Red Sea. He signaled to the emcee who introduced him and incited screams and applause from the audience. Their hands parted as he mounted the stage. He took a microphone then held his hand out for her again, but she hesitated. Almost everyone in the bar had his cellphone ready to record. Am I really going to get on stage and sing Sabbath in front of all these people?

  Then the music began, and it was no Sabbath song she knew. The opening guitar was slow and melodious. Then he sang the first verse as he stared down at her, and she knew she’d been had. “Close My Eyes Forever.” She was about to be publicly serenaded.

  “You promised,” he said at a pause, and she took his hand and joined him.

  For some reason, people clapped when she got on stage, even though she knew they had no idea who she was or why Peter Walsingham would be singing to her; but the thing was, as he held onto her hand and gazed into her eyes, she could almost believe he meant the words he sang. Then she reminded herself. Actor.

  Somehow a microphone materialized in her hand, but – too stunned to move – she couldn’t bring it to her mouth. After singing the refrain, he began the second verse, and she forgot he was acting. She might have stood there transfixed if he hadn’t squeezed her hand to remind her to sing. When she began, the audience cheered, perhaps vicariously joining her on stage; but then they all disappeared. She couldn’t see anyone, she couldn’t hear anyone except Peter. He pulled her closer to him, and it pulled at her heart as well. He kissed her hand, closing his eyes and letting his lips linger until he sang again. They switched some of the parts, not singing the lyrics as assigned for the duet but instinctively knowing which words belonged to whom.

  And then it was over. The music ended, and they stood staring at each other until the applause returned them to the stage. As the audience cheers rose, Peter drug Alice off the stage and out onto Bourbon Street. She had no idea where he was taking her at this frantic pace, navigating through the crowds on the street and sidewalk, and everything happened too quickly for her to wonder or protest. Then he led her down an empty alley, but halfway down, he stopped and turned around. They were both breathing heavily from the exertion, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t take it anymore.”

  He wrapped his arms arou
nd her, brought her tight against his body, and covered her mouth with his. A sensation she could only identify as relief flooded through her, relief in finally getting something she didn’t even know she had been needing. Her arms crawled up around his neck, and he walked her back against a brick wall, providing him leverage to deepen the kiss even more. His hands roamed over her body then made their way up her shirt, flesh to flesh, as their tongues continued to tangle.

  The kiss continued on and on, for minutes, maybe hours. She didn’t know or care or want it to end, but end it did. He pulled his hands out from beneath her shirt to hold her head between them, and he broke the kiss to regain his breath.

  As he laid kisses on her forehead, eyes, cheeks, nose, he whispered, “Thank God, thank God, thank God,” again and again. Then his mouth took hers again, and she could have cried out a prayer of thanks that their lips and tongues were back where they belonged. He claimed her. In that moment, he owned her and could lead her wherever he wanted and she would follow.

  “It’s him.” The words broke the spell, then the camera flash reminded them where they were.

  After a glance in the direction of the disturbance, he brought his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. “Where’s your hotel?” he asked but kissed her before she answered.

  “Paparazzi?” she asked between slow, lingering kisses, which continued as they spoke.

  “Tourists…”

  “My hotel…this next street…up a few blocks…”

  “I’m at the Ritz…”

  “Naturally…”

  “Shall we go there…”

  “No…too far…”

  He lifted his face from hers. “My thoughts exactly.”

  They walked the few blocks with arms around waists without saying anything more, and he occasionally dropped a kiss on the top of her head. They stopped for a moment before entering the hotel, their mouths demanding a reunion after a separation of several blocks. Inside, he had her in his arms again before the elevator doors had closed; and as she fumbled with the key card, he moved her hair aside and kissed the nape of her neck.

  The door opened, and they fell inside as he turned her around and pulled her mouth to his again. They stopped only long enough for him to pull her shirt over her head and then for him to discard his own. The bed took up most of the room, so he didn’t have to go far to pull the covers back in one swift movement. He laid her down against the cool sheet and then lay over her. The light spilling in from the bathroom illuminated his face as he gazed down at her and caressed her temples and cheeks with his thumbs.

  “Tell me this is real,” he said. “Tell me I’m not dreaming.”

  “Shouldn’t I be saying that?” The frenzied, ravenous kisses from the alley had transitioned into gentle lips upon lips, which somehow were more intimate.

  “After the party, I thought I’d never see you again. I hated how we left things.”

  As his kisses deepened, he unhooked her bra and slid the straps from her shoulders, and he caressed from her neck down to her elbow.

  “I couldn’t believe it when I heard you were here. I wish I didn’t have to go to Toronto tomorrow.”

  Wait. What? When he tried to kiss her, she didn’t kiss back, and she turned her face away. “Oh, no.”

  “What is it?”

  “The Matterhorn.”

  “What?”

  “You want to stick your flag in me.”

  “Well, I’ve never heard it called that before.”

  She shoved his chest but didn’t even manage to move him a millimeter. God, his chest feels good. “This is a one-night stand. I’m one of your bimbettes.”

  “What? How can you even think this is a one-night stand? And why are you always talking about my ‘bimbettes’? I don’t even know what the hell that means.”

  She shoved him again. Ugh. Better stop that. “True. I guess I am too old to be a bimbette. Just like last time, you try to get me in bed when you are leaving the next day and, coincidentally enough, both times to Toronto.”

  “For work – not to leave you. That’s who I was on the phone with earlier, trying to arrange so I could wait a few days. I wanted to go back to L.A. with you.”

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  “Why do you think? I’m in love with you, Alice.”

  Oh, brother. She rolled her eyes. “Would you get off of me, please?”

  “Not exactly the response I hoped for.”

  “You are not in love with me.”

  “Then why would I say it?”

  “To get me in bed.”

  “I am in bed with you!”

  “Because I’m trying to get you out of it!”

  He pushed himself up and off the bed and turned his back on her, and she sat up and pulled the sheet up.

  “Do you really think I would say that just to get you to have sex with me?”

  “Men do it all the time.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Why won’t you look at me?”

  He shrugged. “I thought you’d want to get dressed. I was giving you privacy.”

  “Oh. Well, would you throw me my shirt?”

  He picked up the shirt and, handing it to her, sat on the bed. Leaning over, he cupped her face in his hand and rubbed her cheek with his thumb. “I love you. You have to know it. Videos of us together will be on the web by – well, they are probably already up now. Do you think I would have done that if I weren’t in love with you?”

  She shook her head. “Wait. What do you mean? You wouldn’t have done what?”

  “Been videoed together.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, you know, because you’re not…”

  “What? Pretty enough for you?”

  “Of course you are!”

  “Good enough for you?”

  “No!”

  “Famous enough?”

  “Well…”

  “Get up!” He stood up and turned away, and she pulled on her shirt and hopped off the bed. “I cannot believe you did not want to be seen with me because I am not another Winnie or Cleo.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to say! I love you, so that doesn’t matter! I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

  “Well, for not caring, it seems like you’ve given it quite a bit of thought! You’re acting as if you were singing with Osama Bin Laden!”

  He closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “No, I’m not.”

  “How is it different?”

  “For one thing, he’s a terrorist, and for another, he’s dead! You just don’t understand.”

  “Then why don’t you explain it to me?”

  “My image is everything. It’s my career. They would misinterpret why I am with you. People don’t expect someone like me to…”

  “Oh, I see. Someone like you would never be involved with an Alice McGillicutty!”

  “That’s just how it is. They won’t understand. They will think –”

  “What difference does it make what ‘they’ think?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you – I don’t care anymore!”

  “What do you mean, ‘anymore’?”

  “Well, of course I hesitated at first. Why wouldn’t I? You’re just…It’s not…”

  “I’m just a lowly writer, and you’re a big movie star.”

  “I wouldn’t put it like that, but none of that matters anymore. I tried to stay away from you, but I couldn’t do it.”

  He reached out to touch her, but she swatted his hand away. “You have to be the most vain, most arrogant human being I have ever met. And the sad thing is, you don’t even realize how arrogant you are. I guess you just assumed I would be waiting in the wings ready to be swept into your arms with your professions of undying love.”

  “Well, you certainly have not seemed indifferent.”

  “That’s right; I’m not. Almost from the moment we met, I have hated you!”

  He started at this and stepped back as if he had been
stung.

  “From the moment you showed up at All My Tomorrows, you made it clear that you were too good to be there, far better than the rest of us. But then you spent time with us and seemed to find some value in what we did, and I thought you were coming around – becoming human. Then you SUE so you don’t have to come back! After having everyone at your home! That’s not just arrogant – that’s two-faced.”

  “Are you finished?”

  “Oh, not by a long shot! What did you say to Jack about Giselle?”

  “What?”

  “What did you tell him about Giselle that made him completely bail on her? Did you tell him she was just sleeping with him to get into movies?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. Why would you say such a thing? She has been devastated, and according to Dirk, Jack was hurt by it, too.”

  “The night of the party, I heard Mrs. Jellyby saying that once Giselle was a star, it would save –”

  “You are going to listen to her? She’s an idiot! She entertains all kinds of pipe dreams she hopes will save the show. Giselle has never wanted to do anything besides what she is doing right now – except maybe be with Jack. She has never wanted the pressure of a film career. Not everyone wants to be a big movie star like Peter Walsingham!”

  “Well, you certainly became defensive at the pool when Winnie said Giselle would never get out of soaps!”

  “That had nothing to do with what Giselle wants and everything to do with both Winnie and you – because you were right there in league with her – both of you believing that you are better than other people just because of the size of the screen or the time of the show.”

  “We were just stating facts.”

  “They wouldn’t be ‘facts’ if people like you did not keep reinforcing these stereotypes. You know, when soaps got started, it was actors from Broadway who performed on them.”

  “We don’t make the rules.”

  “Yes, you do! You are exactly the ones who make the rules of this exclusive club so you can pretend superiority while you teeter on the precipice of fame. You’ve become so imbued with the rules, you believe your own press. You think it’s within your purview to control the lives of people like pieces on a chessboard – whether it’s Jack and Giselle or me or Rich –”