A minute later, I heard a click and the room door opened. Grace came in and smiled big at me, her blue eyes softening when she saw me. "Hi, handsome," she said. "Miss me?"
I looked up at her, so beautiful and so sweet, still feeling anger and something like shame swirling through my chest over my "fan" run-in downstairs.
I opened my mouth to say something full of sexual innuendo about exactly what I missed about her, but I snapped my mouth closed. It was like a reflex, but Grace would see right through it so why bother? So what should I do instead? I frowned.
Her face went serious. "Carson? What's wrong?" She came over to me and tilted my chin up with her finger and looked into my face, her eyes searching mine. I didn't answer but wrapped my arms around her and lay my head on her belly, taking in long inhales of her soothing scent.
After a couple seconds, she started running her hands through my hair gently, soothing me further. "Talk to me. What happened?" she asked quietly.
I took in a deep breath and pulled back from her. "Nothing, Grace. I just ran into some bitchy fans from the expo. Just a hazard of the job," I said.
When her eyes skittered away from mine, I knew that she didn't know what to say–my job was probably something she really didn't want to think about. Frankly, it was something I really didn't want to think about either.
"I'm gonna take a quick shower, okay? Then we can get ready for dinner?"
She smiled a small smile at me and nodded. "Okay." She took her hand and brushed a piece of hair off my forehead and then brought her hand to my face and looked into my eyes, telling me everything was okay. I leaned into her and closed my eyes. I didn't really need a shower, but it would give me the time to get into a better head space and let the run-in roll off my back. It was my last night with Grace. I'd be damned if anything was going to ruin it. Plus, we needed to talk. We needed to figure something out. I couldn't let her go.
Chapter Twelve
Grace
I heard the shower turn on and sat down in the chair at the desk to check my phone and shoot Abby another quick text. I had been sending them to her since I had talked to her and told her about staying with Carson. She wanted to know that I was okay. I didn't blame her–if the positions had been reversed and she was spending the weekend with a stranger, I'd want her to check in frequently too.
Carson hadn't told me exactly what happened with his fans, but he looked disturbed. And truthfully, just hearing about them had me a little disturbed too. I needed to shake it off. This was our last night together and I wanted to enjoy it. I sat biting my lip for a minute. I had enjoyed the presentation downstairs, but my mind had continually wandered to Carson and the fact that we were going to be saying goodbye in the morning. Maybe we could keep in touch somehow? Was that completely stupid and unrealistic? We needed to talk about this, and in a way I looked forward to it, to potentially figuring out a way not to have to say goodbye forever. God, but in a way I dreaded it. I was pretty sure he'd tell me he felt the same way, but what if he didn't? What if he was still planning on the quick, permanent break we had arranged? He had called us "friends." Did he want to remain "friends?" Or did he–
A knock sounded at the door and interrupted my thoughts. The shower was still going so I walked over to it and pulled it open. A middle aged, short, balding man in khakis and a sport coat was standing on the other side. He looked surprised to see me. "Carson here?" he asked, furrowing his brow.
"Oh, he is but he's in the shower. Do you, uh, want to wait for him, or…"
He sighed, looking annoyed. "I'm his agent, Tim." He looked me up and down, his eyes narrowing and filling with something that made me squirm. "Well, I can see why he shut his phone off and blew everything else off this weekend," he finally said. "You're quite the hot piece of ass, aren't you?"
My eyes widened in shock. "I–"
"Listen, just tell him I stopped by, since he's not taking any calls, and I apparently missed him downstairs earlier at the naked boob signing." He snickered. "Let him know his shoot tomorrow morning has been moved back to eleven. And girlie, do everyone involved a favor and go easy on his cock tonight. The whole shoot depends on him being able to get it up. If you've worn him out, no one is gonna be happy–especially Bambi–the girl who's looking forward to fucking him. Got it?"
There was a lot there that made my heart drop into my feet, and I felt bile rising up my throat, but I wasn't going to let this greasy sleazeball see that. I stood taller and formed my face into what I hoped was a bored expression. "I'll tell him, Tim," I said, my voice cracking slightly, but my eyes remaining steady.
"Good," he said, starting to turn away. Then he turned back and his beady, little rat eyes assessed me again. "You know," he said, running one finger down my cheek to which I flinched away, "you've got a really good look–sexy yet innocent. You'd look great on film. When you're done with Carson tonight, why don't you come down to my room and we can do some role playing–see what your acting skills are like… among other things." His eyes filled with lust and he adjusted himself in his pants as his eyes moved down to my breasts and lingered there. I felt like I was going to throw up.
I had no words. If this weekend had taught me anything, it was that I was a lot more frazzle-able than I thought. I pushed the door closed in his face.
I leaned unsteadily against it, choking the vomit down. Carson had a shoot tomorrow morning. With a girl named Bambi. I laughed a small, hysterical laugh. Was it some kind of bestiality porn? I felt a small sob coming up my throat and swallowed it down. I was not going to cry about this. It was what he did. I knew this. Yes, I knew it, but it was the one thing I hadn't allowed myself to truly think about during our time together. I kept his job on the back burner, not denying it exactly, just refusing to fully consider the reality of it. We were going to spend the night together, he was going to be inside me tonight and then inside Bambi in the morning? My heart clenched painfully. I was sickened.
I looked up as Carson suddenly appeared in the bedroom doorway from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. He smiled over at me, but then his smile disappeared as he took me in. "Buttercup?" he asked.
"Your agent Tim came by," I whispered. "He wanted to let you know that your shoot with Bambi in the morning has been moved to eleven."
He froze and his eyes closed for a couple beats. Then he opened them and said simply, "I'm sorry, Buttercup." And that's when I felt my heart truly crack.
**********
Carson
My heart beat like thunder in my chest as I took her in from across the room. Shit, shit, shit! Fucking Tim! I hadn't wanted Grace to know about my shoot. I had avoided thinking about it myself. But it was reality, and I knew I'd have to face it eventually. I was just sorry as hell that Grace had to face it too.
"Grace," I started, walking toward her. She shrunk back and that small movement made me want to slam my fist into the wall. I looked at her pleadingly. "Grace, you knew what I did…"
She looked up at me with eyes filled with hurt. "I know," she whispered. "I guess I just didn't think you'd be going directly from me to someone else." She shook her head.
"It's not like that, Grace. It's work," I said quietly.
She nodded, biting her lip. "The thing is, Carson, how do you separate the two? I never asked you anything about what you do because I didn't want to think about it–not truly. But now I want to know. How do you separate real life from 'work'?"
I stared at her and told her the truth. "I've only made four films, Grace. Like I told you in the elevator, I don't exactly enjoy it, but it was always easy enough for me. Before."
"Before what?" she asked, her eyes searching mine.
"Before you. You've changed things for me." And as the words tumbled from my mouth, I realized that she had. I wasn't sure exactly how or what that meant, but I knew it was true.
She stared at me, blinking. "So what are you going to do then?" she asked quietly.
I scrubbed a hand down my face. "What can I do?"
I asked, raising my voice, feeling the anger and frustration of the situation fill me. "I have a two-year contract, and I'm only six months into it. I'll get sued if I break it. And what the fuck else am I going to do, Grace? Work at a gas station? I don't have a college degree. I don't have any other prospects. I don't have anything to offer you," I said, the misery washing over me in the truth of my statement. I'd never felt more worthless.
Her eyes had filled with tears at my words. She looked down and shook her head. After a minute she sighed and started walking toward me. "I'm sorry, this isn't fair. I knew what you did and now I'm holding it against you. It's just… it didn't hurt two days ago. It hurts now," she finished quietly.
I slumped my shoulders, defeated. This was a no-win situation. I had thought we'd figure out a way to make something work, but how? What? It was true–I had nothing to offer her. She couldn't deal with what I did and still be a part of my life, and I didn't blame her. How would I feel if Grace was going off to make a film with some other guy tomorrow morning? I wouldn't care that it was "work," it would freak me the fuck out. Jealousy charged through me at just the thought alone.
I had told her that we were friends, and we were, but we were more too–what exactly, I wasn't sure and there was no way for us to explore any of it. The fact that we lived in two different cities was the very least of our challenges.
And as far as my job, I had few to no good options aside from what I was doing right in the moment. I had spent a lot of money in Vegas, not that I'd tell her that, and I needed the contract installment that tomorrow's shoot would bring me to replenish my bank account.
"Isn't there anything else you've thought of doing?" she asked warily. "I mean, surely you couldn't have planned to do this forever."
"I don't have a plan, Grace! You're the one with the plan!" I yelled out, hating myself, so filled with regret and frustration that I lashed out at her. My voice sounded broken, even to my own ears.
She looked at me so sadly. I wanted to make it better for her, but I couldn't. I was worthless and powerless and the girl I cared about was standing in front of me with tears in her eyes, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes very briefly. "I don't want to lose you, Buttercup, but I don't have a plan," I said miserably. "I'm so sorry, so sorry." I raked both hands through my hair, grimacing and turning away from her.
"Come to D.C., Carson. Stay with me. We can figure something out." I turned back around to her at her words. "Maybe you could enroll in college there… or…" she trailed off, her eyes losing the look of desperation that had been in them a moment before. Now she was frowning and looking sad and uncertain.
I studied her. My sweet Buttercup. "I can't stay on your couch mooching off of you, Grace. If this," I waved my arm around the room indicating where we had started, "was an unlikely way for anything real to begin, that situation would be the worst idea in the history of bad relationship ideas. What would your dad think? I wouldn't do that to you–to us."
Her eyes met mine and we looked at each other for long minutes. I could see that she was out of ideas too. The sadness coming off of her was palpable.
She sighed heavily and looked down. "This is going to hurt more if I stay with you until tomorrow morning," she said quietly. "I can't stand it hurting any more than it does now."
I nodded, my jaw clenching and something inside pulling tight and snapping. "I know," I said.
She nodded again and stood up and started gathering her things. I sat silently, staring ahead, hating life, hating myself and my stupid choices, and most of all hating the fact that we could never explore what was blossoming between us.
When she was done, she came over to me and knelt down in front of me just as I had done to her yesterday. She looked up at me with tears shimmering in her big, blue eyes. "I'll always think of you when I get on an elevator or see a sunrise," she said quietly, her voice breaking on the last word.
I looked down at her and gave her a small smile, my heart thudding hollowly in my chest. I would never know what we could have been together and it felt so fucking unfair. I thought of all the things that would make me think of her, too many to mention them all. "I'll always think of you when I watch Titanic… or see a Buttercup," I said.
She smiled sadly, standing up slowly and kissing me on my lips gently, lingering there as she put her hand on my cheek. She turned away too quickly for me to see her face and she opened the door and closed it quietly behind her.
I stood up and grabbed the vase of flowers off the desk and hurled it at the wall. Glass shattered and water and flowers rained down as I sat back down on the bed heavily and put my head in my hands.
Chapter Thirteen
Grace
The Eagle
I closed the door behind me and the tears started to fall. I knew this was the right thing to do–I couldn't stay a minute longer knowing where he was headed in the morning, and knowing that my heart was involved. But it didn't change the fact that I was forcing myself to leave. It didn't change the fact that it hurt to leave. It didn't change the stark misery that had washed over his face when he realized I was leaving. As I stepped on the elevator and the doors closed behind me, I swiped at my cheeks and leaned back against the wall.
This is where it had started. On an elevator. And now here I was on an elevator again–only this time it was ending. And I didn't want it to. I wanted to go back in time and do it all over again, even knowing what I now knew, just to spend a couple more days with him.
I stepped off and made my way to my room and let myself in. I sank down on the bed and curled into a ball, allowing myself to sob. When the worst of it had passed, I stood up and went to the bathroom and washed my face. Then I changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and started packing. There was no way I was staying in this hotel with Carson a couple floors above me. There were several reasons for this, mainly that I simply didn't trust myself not to run back to his room and fling myself at him. But to what end? I shook my head sadly. I had gotten myself into this situation. But how would I have known that I would develop feelings for Carson Stinger, Straight Male Performer? It was almost ludicrous, even now that it was my reality. But that was a thought I would have had a couple days ago. Now? Now it wasn't really ludicrous at all. Because what I didn't know at the time was that he had an impossibly sweet side, and that he was exciting and brave and generous in every way possible. Did I wish I had never been given this information? Would I rather go back to the time when it was easy to walk away from him, if I had to agree that I would never experience the beauty of our weekend? I was too hurt and confused to answer those questions right now.
I put my large bag over my shoulder and pulled the handle up on my suitcase and rolled it out the door.
I checked out quickly and went outside to wait for the shuttle to the airport. I prayed that there was a flight I could get on tonight but if not, I'd sleep at the airport. It wasn't much of a plan. I almost laughed, but caught myself. Then I almost sobbed and caught myself again. I bit my lip.
The shuttle picked me up fifteen minutes later and I looked back over my shoulder at the Bellagio. I'd become a different person this weekend. Carson had changed me in ways that I suspected were going to make me look at all my decisions differently, make me re-evaluate all my "well-made" plans. I was going to take that with me now and think of him as a gift, as much as my heart was breaking with loss. It was all I had to hold onto so that I didn't demand that the shuttle driver stop and let me out so that I could go running back to him. I leaned my head back on the seat and let the mixture of heartbreak and hope wash over me, bathing my heart in both darkness and in light.
**********
I wheeled my suitcase into my apartment the next morning at seven thirty, exhausted in every way possible. I had been able to change my flight to a red-eye, and had sat around the airport for several hours waiting until boarding started. I had tried to sleep once I got on the plane, but my mind wo
uldn't let me, too active to shut down and allow me some rest.
I went over every minute of my weekend with Carson, trying to pinpoint the exact moment when I handed him a piece of my heart. Had it been over hot dogs that first night? After the amazing sex? Laughing in the pool? When he told me he was jealous of Parker, revealing that he had feelings for me too? Or had it been sooner than that? Maybe in the elevator when he sang to me to keep me from panicking? When I discovered why he put on that false front of his? Was it possible to connect to another person that quickly? I wanted to scream! Shut down, brain! Why did it even matter? I was like Rainman playing, "Who's on First," over and over and over.
"Hey Pod Person!" I heard called from the kitchen and I left my suitcase and bag at the door, and walked in to greet Abby.
"Hi Abs," I said in a voice even I realized sounded dead. Abby was sitting at our small kitchen table in a pair of sweat pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt, her dark brown hair up in a messy pile on top of her head, a cup of coffee and some papers and a pen in front of her.
At the sight of me, her eyes widened and her expression turned concerned. "What'd he do to you?" she whispered, standing up and coming over to me.
I shook my head as my face crumbled and my emotions welled up at the sight of the comfort of my best friend. "He didn't do anything to me, Abby. I did it to myself. I–" I choked and the tears started coming.
Abby pulled me to her, stroking my back and hugging me silently for several minutes as I got a hold of myself. When my tears had subsided, she pulled back and looked into my face, her expression stern.
"I can't believe you did this to us, Grace," she said.
A laugh burst out of me. "To us?" I asked. "How exactly do you figure I did anything to us?"
Exposed: An Anthology Page 169