Darke [Part 1]

by Saber Vale

  “This isn’t my apartment,” I said quietly to the driver, who gave me a short, disinterested look.

  “This is the address your… uh... boyfriend gave me,” he said.

  I wondered if he thought I was a prostitute.

  “Oh… ok” I said, getting hesitantly out of the car. It pulled off into the night and I was left alone on the curb, unsure of what to do.

  The Spanish style condo was three large units, all with elaborate entry ways that faced the street, surrounded by lush tropical plants. The building oozed old Hollywood glamour, and I slowly, nervously, approached the second unit, which had only a porch light on. There was a little key box hanging from the handle of the door, and I slowly typed in the keycode, making it pop open and detach easily from the door. Inside were a set of shiny brass keys. I felt so strangely nervous as I opened the front door into the dark, silent condo.

  I flipped on the light and gasped.

  The condo was beautiful. Marble on the floors, delicate crystal chandeliers, beautiful, priceless looking rugs in every room. I wandered from the entryway, where an orchid sat preening on a pedestal under light, into the living room, with buttery looking cinnamon colored sofas and a needlessly large television that I would probably never use. On the walls were huge photographs of sprawling landscapes, landscapes that looked very much like Indiana.

  The kitchen, with its grey and white marble countertops and brand-new appliances, seemed like it was built for a world-famous chef, not a farm girl who mostly cooked grilled cheese sandwiches and fried eggs.

  The bathroom had a huge japanese style wooden tub with a window that looked out into the back garden. There was a slate shower with a waterfall shower, heated floors, stacks of fluffy white towels on the shelves, and shampoos, lotions, and soaps from France on the countertop.

  Finally, in the bedroom, was a very modern looking king sized bed with a pillowy comforter and a cloudy mountain of white down pillows. There was a series of small paintings on the wall, delicately painted flowers, and I wondered if Keller chose them himself.

  Tears welled in my eyes and I texted Keller.

  “Thank you.”

  “Yeah, of course,” Keller texted back, “you’re free to stay til’ filming ends, get another part, and then you can get your own place. Movers will be at your house tomorrow to get your clothes and things, meet them at eleven with the key.”

  Why had he done it? I felt tears slide down my cheeks as I looked around, completely overwhelmed by his generosity. Was it possible that he felt for me the same way I felt about him? I knew I shouldn’t entertain such thoughts, but as I walked through the house, every detail considered perfectly, but I wondered how he could possibly do something so thoughtful for someone he didn’t care about.

  When I slipped into the beautiful bed that night, I felt enveloped by luxury, nestled in a cocoon of beauty and comfort. Whatever was happening, I knew for at least one night I could let myself sleep easily, could let go of all of my pain, and finally, finally, rest.

  Chapter 7

  I went to the set the next day feeling giddy, having slept amazingly on the beautiful bed. Keller was there having coffee, sitting in a director’s chair. He glanced at me and winked, which made my heart soar. I went to hair and makeup half expecting him to come visit, but he never did. The makeup artist who we’d had the sort-of-threesome with did my makeup, but was completely professional, even as I was almost too polite and apologetic whenever she had to ask me to look up, down, and so on.

  “Hey sweetheart,” Colin popped into my trailer as I slipped into my costume.

  “Oh,” I said nervously, “hi there.”

  “You look just gorgeous,” he said, eyeing me, smirking.

  “Thanks,” I said, blushing.

  “I was wondering if you’d like to go with me to a fundraiser tonight?” he said, “I actually thought it would be good for the movie for us to be seen together. No pressure, just friendly. I already cleared it with Keller.”

  “Keller?” I asked, then scoffing, “why would you ask him?”

  “Oh, come on, everybody knows you guys have some kind of arrangement,” Colin said cheekily, “I figured it was just business.”

  “I… I…” I stuttered, shocked and embarrassed.

  “Nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart,” he said gently, “if anybody knows how hard it is it’s another actor.”

  I sighed.

  I had made certain choices and needed to live with them.

  “Ok, when is it?”

  “Tomorrow night, do you have a dress?”

  “No,” I admitted, “but I can go shopping this afternoon.

  “Just asked costume,” he said with a shrug, “you need something couture.”

  I nodded, wanting him to leave.

  I was so embarrassed.

  I finished getting dressed, and we shot a long scene. It was a scene where Colin’s character convinces Annie to become a prostitute so they can afford their apartment and, of course, more drugs, but tries to make it seem like a fun adventure.

  “Baby, your body can be his, but your heart… your heart can belong to anyone, it can soar above it all, you don’t have to let anyone touch it…”

  Tears welled in my eyes when he said it, and I realized that I had let my heart be touched. That I was a whore who had given myself away thinking I could protect my heart, but I hadn’t.

  “Yes,” I nodded, my character lying to herself the way I had lied to myself, “I can do it, I can stay pure…”

  The truth, I knew, was that you couldn’t stay pure.

  You could’t give away your body and protect your heart. It’s not that simple, it never is. I smiled as tears streamed down my face.

  “That was incredible,” Martin said, stepping in front of the camera as the scene ended, “Selma… You’re a really fabulous actress.”

  Keller sipped his coffee and looked at me with burning, serious eyes. I wondered what he was thinking, if he’d recognized the very real pain in my words.

  “Oh, yeah, thanks,” I said, embarrassed.

  “This is going to be a big break for you,” he said, running a finger down my arm.

  I shivered, smiled, and slipped back to my trailer. I’d be so happy when the filming was over.

  On my way out, as I waited for an Uber, Keller pulled up to the curb where I was standing.

  “Let me give you a ride,” he said, rolling the window down.

  Elated, I cancelled my car and got into his.

  “You like the new place?” he asked, gunning the engine of the sportscar.

  “Of course,” I said with a laugh, “I love it.”

  “Do you need a dress for tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, I do,” I admitted, “Colin said to ask wardrobe, but I was too embarrassed.”

  “No, I’ll get you a dress,” he said, pulling onto Santa Monica Boulevard, “don’t worry about that.”

  “You’re going to buy me a dress for a date with another man?”

  Keller looked at me.

  “Is that how you think of it? A date? Does Colin flirt with you?”

  There was a concerned edge to his voice that I didn’t expect.

  “No, no of course not,” I insisted.

  “I know he’s attracted to you, Selma,” Keller sighed, “you know I’d rather you not see anyone but me for now, but soon enough…”

  “I don’t want to date someone else,” I insisted.

  “We’re getting too close,” Keller said quietly, “I like you Selma, that’s why I opened up that condo for you, but I’m not your boyfriend and when this film is does shooting we’re going to part ways.”

  “I know,” I sighed, frustrated with myself.

  We pulled up to the condo and Keller got out, opened my door, and followed me in without explanation. As soon as we were inside he lead me to the bedroom.

  “Undress,” he said quietly, sitting down on the end of bed.

  “Yes sir,” I said, feeling cold and anxious.


  I wanted him to touch me, not watch me with that icy, almost cruel look in his eye.

  I undressed slowly, nervously, and he watched with a detached interest, like he didn’t care who I was, just that I turned him on.

  Once I was standing before him naked, he unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down just enough to reveal his thick, pulsing cock. He stroked it gently a few times, leaning back, looking at me with expectation.

  “Get on your knees and suck me off,” he commanded, a tight edge to his voice.

  I did as I was told, dropping down to my knees and approaching him in that submissive, pathetic position. I took his thick shaft in my hands and angled the head of his cock into my mouth, sucking it gently at first for a moment before he took a thick handful of my hair and forced me to swallow it whole. I gagged and sputtered, but he didn’t relent, groaning as he moved his hips, forcing my jaw open wider so that he could make me take more and more of him. My eyelashes fluttered and my eyes filled with tears.

  “You can handle it, can’t you, Selma?” he asked cruelly, and I nodded.

  I could. I would do anything for him.

  Choking and gagging, I swallowed and whimpered. He held onto my hair, looked into my tear-filled eyes, and smirked at me.

  “I’m going to come,” he groaned, pushing my head down, filling my throat with his cock.

  “Mmm,” I moaned, wanting to taste him in spite of everything.

  He unloaded into my mouth, the back of my throat, really, and kept his fingers laced tightly in my hair until I swallowed completely, looking up at him gratefully, like the taste of his cum was the sweetest thing in the world.

  “Good girl,” he said, pulling his thick, dripping, still hard member from my throat and standing up.

  “Keller,” I whispered, wiping my face, dabbing at my eyes.

  I wanted him to hold me, to kiss me.

  “I have to go,” he said, “but, uh, have a good night, Selma.”

  I felt shattered.

  “Your dress will be here tomorrow morning,” Keller said quietly, “I’ll see you soon.”

  After he left, the condo didn’t seem as wonderful as it had before. It was new and sterile, cold and didn’t feel like home. No where in L.A. Probably ever would. The beautiful paintings were probably chosen by his assistant. The huge bed was luxurious, but as long as I slept in it, I would be sleeping alone.

  Darke

  Why had I done what I’d done? I felt terrible leaving her. I’d chosen everything for the condo myself, had wanted it to be perfect for her for some reason. It was like I wanted to reclaim my power over her, like I had to hurt her, to break her down just a little bit, to prove to her that I was what I’d said I was.

  Not her boyfriend, not her lover, a man who wanted to use her, to take her to the darker, more painful side of life. I had to ruin the condo I’d so carefully designed for her, poison it, make it toxic instead of sweet.

  I drove back to Beverly Hills, to Neiman Marcus, went straight to couture evening wear. When I look through the new designer gowns, nothing looked quite right. I didn’t want Selma to look like every other girl on the red carpet would look, in sleek Valentino, perfect and not a hair out of place.

  When I told the stylist what I was looking for… something completely different, she brought a dress out of the back, brand new from Alexander McQueen, like something out of a fairytale. I felt a lump in my throat when I looked at it, like I could see her in it and she was irresistible.

  I tossed down a card, and walked out, texting my assistant to make sure it was delivered with a stylist.

  I made one more stop, a stop I hadn’t planned to make, a tug in my chest as I drove by Harry Winston. Some of the pieces of jewelry there were probably worth more than her family’s entire farm. The engagement rings glimmered teasingly at me from one one case, a case I promised myself I would never peruse.

  Instead I looked at the more unique pieces, necklaces and brooches, searching for something that said ‘sorry I am who I am, sorry for everything, but don’t count on me to change.’

  I knew I had to go to the fundraiser too, and arranged a professionally advantageous date with an agent who had been looking to connect with me. It crossed my mind briefly that Selma might not like seeing me with another woman, but she would have to deal with it. I wasn’t looking forward to any of it, except for seeing Selma in her dress, a dress I really did think would look great on her and, more importantly, make her standout on the red carpet, which was vital to our marketing.

  That was all that mattered, I reminded myself.

  As I pulled up to my house I had the nagging feeling, once again, that I could be back at Selma’s place. I wondered what she was doing, and then shook such sentimental thoughts from my mind. I had to stop thinking of her that way and resented, once again, the way she made me feel distracted, less focused, less sharp.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about the scene earlier that day, the tears streaming down Selma’s face when she shot that scene.

  She was a spectacular actress, something I had seen glimmers of and was now totally confident of. Of course, talent was only a part of the recipe for success, but you couldn’t get too far without it. She seemed personally affected by the scene, though, in a way I didn’t like. Did she feel like she’d compromised herself past the point of return?

  Why couldn’t she just do what I’d done a long time before, and turn off her feelings, that stupid voice inside of us that says that love will make us happy?

  I knew that it wouldn’t. It only got in the way, and the sooner the realized it, the further she’d go.

  Chapter 8

  What was I expecting when the stylist from Neiman Marcus arrived at my door with my dress in a shiny black garment bag? I knew Keller had excellent taste, and I guess I imagined something sleek, black, chic and effortless. Instead, the black-suited woman, who was stick-thin and wore little black glasses, drew a beautiful beaded gown, like something a flapper princess would wear, out of the bag.

  I gasped.

  It had a sheer flesh colored overlay, beaded in pale colors, flowers in crystal and glass. The dress underneath was a pale, mossy green, and it made me think of fairies or something ethereal, otherworldly.

  “Yes, Keller said this would be perfect for you,” the woman said, hanging it up and indicating for me to undress.

  “It’s… it’s stunning,” I gushed.

  “He has a good eye,” the stylist said with a smirk, “he certainly knows women. When he chose this dress I thought it was a little strange- it’s very beautiful, but also really soft, feminine… not something he would normally choose when dressing a lead.”

  “He picks out dresses for all his film’s leads?” I asked hesitantly.

  “I mean, he’s kind of known for being a control freak in the industry,” she said with a shrug, “he just makes sure his female leads are as appealing as possible. I’ve been working with him for a few years and I’m always amazed at how well he can market a woman. He really gets how to make stars into products.”

  I smiled flatly at her.

  “It’s just for a fundraiser,” I said, “not doing film promotion.”

  “Oh, you’re doing promotion,” she said with a laugh, “every time you show up on a red carpet you’re promoting this film. That’s why Keller needs perfection.”

  “I don’t like to think of myself as a product,” I sighed.

  She smiled at me pityingly. I wondered if, from her perspective, I was just one of a long line of girls being fed into a machine that would chew them up.

  I let her help me into the dress, and she walked with me to the full length mirror in my bedroom.

  “It’s perfect,” I said breathlessly.

  It really was.

  “I don’t even think it needs alterations,” the stylist said, looking over my shoulder, “he sized you up pretty perfectly.”

  My heart thumped. Of course he did.

  That afternoon, a hairdresser
came to my house and curled my hair until I really did look like a fairy tale princess, then did my makeup in a simple, elegant, light style. As I waited for the limo, I stared at myself, a image in the mirror that was almost unrecognizable, a beautiful, professionally styled actress in a dress that probably cost thousands of dollars.

  The limo pulled up, and I wished, irrationally, that Keller would be in the backseat. I let the driver hold the door as I got in, and right away I saw the little black box in the seat, with a note in Keller’s handwriting.

  “I thought this would look good on you” was all it said.

  I opened the box, from Harry Winston, and inside found a cluster tear shaped of diamonds and pale gems on a platinum lariat, a necklace so dazzling and delicate that it took my breath away.

  I slipped it over my neck and willed myself not to cry. How could he give me something so beautiful and not feel something, even something small, for me?

  The limo pulled up to a very beautiful, Spanish style house in Bel Air and Colin, holding a glass of champagne in a plastic cup, sauntered down his huge lawn to join me. He appeared to be the beautiful, stylish movie star that he actually was, something I’d nearly forgotten in my time working with him day in and out.

  “Cheers, darling,” he said to me, kissing me on the cheek as he got into the limo. He smelled like bay rum aftershave.

  “Good evening, Colin,” I said, blushing.

  “You look outstanding,” he said, leaning back as though to get a better view.