Craving Midnight

by A. M. Hargrove

Peeping out the tiny hole, I see Harrison’s face.

  “What are you doing here? Trying to bum some coffee?” I ask as I open the door.

  “Jesus, you look like hell.”

  “Top of the morning to you too,” I say, flipping him off.

  I turn away, figuring he’ll follow me into the kitchen. He does. The machine now ready, I brew a cup and hand it to him. “What’s your poison?”

  “As is,” he says.

  I make another and he asks me why I look so rough. I hold up the script. “This.”

  He looks at it. “Ahh. You stayed up all night?”

  “Yes. This is fantastic. If Holt doesn’t fuck it up, he should win an Oscar.”

  “That good, huh?”

  “Oh my fucking hell. It’s everything I’ve always wanted in a movie. Not even kidding one bit. I wish you could read it, Harrison.”

  “Damn, it must be great. I’ve never seen you so upbeat. You’re almost giddy.”

  “I didn’t fall asleep because I kept thinking about that damn screenplay.”

  “Yeah, neither did I, but for different reasons.” He waggles his brows.

  I shove his shoulder. “Oh, stop.”

  “At least we took care of the new client, but Harrison went home a lonely man when all he wanted to do was fuck Midnight.”

  “Poor guy.” I push my index finger into his chest. “Do you know how sorry I feel for Harrison? I bet he went home and watched one of Lusty’s videos.”

  “Pervy bastard.”

  The way he says it makes me laugh.

  “So, how’s your …” He aims his finger between my thighs, making a circle.

  “Hmm, isn’t that quite the question this morning?”

  He lifts one large, muscular shoulder. I have a flashback of when one of my legs was draped over it.

  “I thought so, or I wouldn’t have asked. I figured gummy bear was a bit worn out.” His teeth scrape over his lower lip. Harrison has a mouth that would make a nun orgasm spontaneously.

  A change of subject is needed or I may find myself on my knees. “Are you hungry?”

  “Of course.” A hoarse laugh rolls out of him.

  “Shut up.” I smack him on the arm. “I’ll make you breakfast if you like. I’m starving—I forgot to eat dinner last night.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll have eggs. And why didn’t you eat?”

  I point to the script I set on the counter. “I got so caught up in that, I never stopped.”

  “Damn. You make me want to read it.”

  “You can’t. And don’t you dare touch it.” I snap my fingers. He puts his hands in the air, and I pet the script where it sits on the counter. “I can’t begin to explain how great this is.”

  “Can you tell me what it’s about at least?”

  “Nope. It would spoil when you see it for the first time.”

  The butter in the pan sizzles so I put the eggs in and pop some bread into the toaster. In no time, breakfast is ready. Harrison inhales his; I’m only a couple of bites in and his plate sparkles like it wasn’t used.

  “Damn. Did you even chew?”

  “I was hungry, I guess.”

  “There’s more bread if you want to toast it.” He gets up and pops two more slices into the toaster. He devours those too.

  “I can cook you more eggs,” I offer.

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  He makes another cup of coffee and then announces he has to leave. “Time to earn a living.”

  “I have to be at the studio at seven tomorrow. We’re doing another table read. Since I’ve been gone awhile, Danny wants to do it again.”

  “Good idea,” he says.

  I watch him as he lets himself out the door. His tailored black pants look sexy as hell as they hug his hips and firm ass. I remember that ass with my hands molded around it while he did the dirty to me. Will that happen again? I sure as hell hope so. My poor vibrator doesn’t stand a chance as I wait for that time to come.

  Chapter 15

  Midnight

  This screenplay hits all the points I love in a great movie, but when we sit down to go through it again as a group at the table read, I’m blown away all over again. Even some of Holt’s surliness has disappeared.

  “Fantastic reading, Midnight. With a little bit of honing, you’re going to kill this script,” Danny says.

  I beam. “Wow, I don’t know what to say. I hope to make you proud, Danny.”

  “Just thank the man, for God’s sake. Can’t you recognize a flirt when you see one?” Holt stands behind Danny’s shoulder bearing a sour expression. I don’t know why he has to act like an ass and spoil the fun.

  “Oh, come on, Holt. One, I’m not flirting. I was just complimenting her on the great job she did today,” Danny says.

  “Whatever.” Holt walks away.

  “Ignore his rude ass. I meant what I said. You’re going to shine on screen.”

  “Thanks and I promise to work hard.”

  “Good. So, we’ll see you in two weeks then. If you need anything, give me a call.”

  “Thanks, Danny.”

  I’m standing next to the table when Holt walks by to grab his stuff. “Hey, Holt. I was going to tell you earlier, this script is incredible, and with your talent you may end up with an Oscar next year.”

  Instead of a show of gratitude, he sneers. “Oh? And exactly what would you know about that?”

  I’m so shocked, my tongue ends up trapped inside my mouth.

  “Yeah, not much, huh?” He grabs his stuff and stomps off.

  This is going to be one long haul working with that offensive prick. Why does anyone have to be such a dick? What happened to being kind to one another?

  I pick up my things and go home, pushing those thoughts of Holt Ward aside.

  My phone rings. “Hello.”

  “Hey, it’s Harrison. How’d it go?”

  “Ah, other than asshole Holt, it was awesome.” I explain what happened. “I’ll be up to my eyeballs studying, so don’t think I’m ignoring you.”

  “Not a problem. Call if you need me. And Midnight?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Good luck. I’m pulling for you.”

  For the next two weeks, I dive into studying my lines. I’m going to memorize every letter of this story, making Holt look like an amateur in comparison. Okay, that’s a stretch, but that’s what I’m telling myself anyway.

  My arrival time for Monday morning on my call sheet was 0600. I arrive around the same time the makeup crew shows up. We’re filming several scenes today on the same set. After my makeup is finished, I arrive on set to find the lighting crew working their magic. They need to ensure the actors are lit properly on every shot. The director positions Holt and me in different spots where the scene will be taking place so the cameraman can tweak his shots. They’ll film from my angle, then Holt’s. It’s very time intensive. We’re finally ready to begin. We do a run-through to rehearse, and then it’s showtime.

  In the scene we’re working on right now, Holt’s character, Finn, and I are having marital issues because of our financial state. He’s lost his job and can’t find a new one. I’m working but it’s not enough to support us.

  Finn is overbearing and frustrated, and I’m stressed out with mounting overdue bills and a young daughter to care for. We have an argument and he storms out. Our daughter wakes up and comes into the room crying. It’s a very emotional moment for me.

  I’m shaken by the scene, but not because I’m acting. This isn’t very far from the life I grew up in, only my mother wasn’t married to the men she sometimes argued with. I wrap the young actor in my arms, soothing her, telling her it’s going to be fine and that Daddy will be home soon.

  The director cuts and I lean away from Sammie, the little girl I’m hugging, giving her a big smile. “You were awesomesauce, dude.” We high-five. She’s so cute. At four years old, I want to steal her away. She’s blond with long braids and green eyes, much like Holt’s.

&n
bsp; “Thanks, Ms. Drake. You were awesomesauce too.”

  Holt pops back on the set and gives me a slight nod. I’ll take it. That’s better than some scathing insult. The assistant director escorts Sammie off the set to her mother, who has been hanging out nearby. I wish my mom would’ve been around like that instead of shooting up heroin.

  I wander over to the area where snacks and drinks are located and grab something as the crew prepares for the next scene. Then I take a seat in my personal chair and scan my sides (a small version of the scenes we’re filming today).

  The director calls for the actors so we begin the next scene, where I try to smooth things over with Holt/Finn by seducing him. I change into sexy lingerie so when he comes home, I’m ready for a little bedroom fun. Our daughter is asleep when I hear the door opening. I walk into the living room, and he has no idea what’s underneath the robe I’m wearing. With all the stress in our marriage, our sex life has suffered.

  I casually walk up behind him and grab his hand. “Hey. You’ve been gone awhile.”

  He doesn’t look me in the eye. “Yeah. Had to clear my head.”

  “Why don’t you come to bed?”

  He shrugs my hand off. “Not tired.” Then he walks to the kitchen and returns with a (fake) beer, pops the top off, and takes a long gulp.

  I don’t give up because my character, Christine, is a very determined woman. I turn him to face me and brush his hair off his forehead, massage the creases there, then say, “Come on, baby. I can make you feel a whole lot better than that bottle can.”

  He finally connects and notices me for the first time.

  He knocks my hand away. “Christ, Christine. Leave me alone.” He heads for the couch.

  His ass plops down on it and he spreads his long, muscular legs out. But he doesn’t count on me sinking to my knees between them.

  “What the hell’s up with you tonight?”

  “I just want to be with you, baby.” I rub my cheek on his thigh as I go for the button on his jeans.

  He shoves my hands aside. “I’m not in the mood.” His voice carries a hard edge of frustration.

  “If you give me a few, I can get you in the mood.”

  “Oh yeah? How?”

  I stand and drop the robe. His lids open slightly only he’s not acting now. It’s a visceral reaction.

  “You think that’s gonna work on me?”

  I offer him my hand and smile. “Why don’t we find out?”

  He takes my hand and gives me a hard yank. I land on top of him and he kisses me ferociously. Then pushes me aside.

  “You’ve been keeping this from me. Why?”

  “I—I haven’t. Things have been ...”

  He gets up and drags me toward the bedroom.

  “Cut,” Greg calls out. “I can’t wait to see the dailies on this.”

  I’ll admit it was hot. Hotter than I expected from Holt.

  “Nice work,” Holt says.

  “Thanks.” It’s kind of weird. He never compliments me. I wonder how tomorrow will go. That’s when we do the bedroom scene.

  0700 I show up for makeup. I wear the sexy lingerie again and I’m ready for the bedroom scene. The lighting is a pain. It takes forever to get it right today.

  “His face looks too drawn,” one of the crew complains.

  “It’s supposed to. He’s stressed,” Greg says.

  They argue back and forth and it ends up taking until lunch before they get ready for us. They do several test shots and we’re finally ready.

  “Hey, let’s take a short break for lunch and then run straight through,” Greg says.

  Sounds good to me because I’m starving. We go outside to where the catering food is and eat.

  Back inside, we take our positions, and action is called.

  Holt pulls off his shirt to reveal sculpted abs. I’m sure he’s been preparing for this by spending time in the gym. Who wants themselves to be seen by millions of adoring fans without being in the best shape possible?

  Then he lifts me up and we’re in the bed, his hands roaming all over me, frantically, as though he can’t possibly get enough. The camera closes in, though I’m not sure what it’s getting. And then the director yells, “Cut.” I want to laugh because I’m so used to porn and this is lily-white in comparison.

  “That was hot,” Greg, the director, says. “Now I need you naked from the waist up and under the covers, Midnight. We need the after-sex scene.”

  “Right.” I strip off my bra, because I’m not exactly shy having had my boobs exposed for all to see so many times before. Holt tries to hold up his shirt to shield me. My contract stated it would include nudity from the waist up, but I guess Holt isn’t aware of that.

  “Hey, it’s fine. They’ll all see in a second, anyway. Besides, it’s in my contract.”

  He lets out an awkward laugh. “Right.”

  We scoot under the covers and he asks if I’m comfortable. I’m more than a bit surprised he’s being so considerate. Shooting begins again and we film the afterglow of our sexy time. He plays with my nipple, tickles me, and then goes in for the heated kiss, which are all actually scripted. Nevertheless, it takes me by surprise, zipping the lines from my head. My emotions are hopping all over the place, my stomach in knots.

  I can’t screw this up so I improvise, but the passion and tension between us produces a quality that has the scene turning out better than what was originally planned. It’s gutsy, yet sweet, with Finn softening toward Christine, and Christine letting her love for him shine through her eyes.

  It ends with Finn touching Christine’s lips with his and Greg yelling, “Cut!” I sit up, holding the sheet against me, to see a gigantic smile spreading across Holt’s face.

  “That was amazing,” he says.

  I don’t quite know what to say to that, other than, “Yeah, I think we did great.”

  When I get out of the bed and away from the lighting, I look across the set to see Harrison standing there, a serious expression on his face. He nods once and then walks out through the doors in the back of the studio.

  Chapter 16

  Harrison

  As it turns out, Midnight doesn’t need me after all. Watching her the last two days were Oscar worthy performances. It’s been so moving, so real, I felt like I was in bed with the two of them. Did they feel that passion for each other? Because it sure as hell felt like it to me. Her acting skills are better than anyone’s I’ve seen in a long time. Move over Meryl Streep, you’ve got company, baby.

  I have to admit, her kisses and nakedness with Holt bothered me more than a little. But why should it? It’s part of the deal when you’re an actor. Most roles require kissing, sex scenes, and bedroom antics, if there’s any kind of relationship involved. Yet I couldn’t quite help feeling they were into it a little more than the scene required. Maybe I’m just jealous it wasn’t me in the scene with her. I don’t know. Midnight and I are just ... what are we exactly? She was my client, but then the sex …

  And now? Now we’re playing phone and text tag. But I want something more. Is she on the same page?

  I’m sitting in my car, staring into space, when a tap on the window startles me. Speak of the devil.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks.

  “No idea whatsoever.”

  “Wanna grab dinner? I’m starving. We’ve wrapped for the day, thank God.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Follow me.”

  We end up at an Italian place and I laugh. I owe her a dinner and she must’ve gotten it in her mind to collect it.

  After we’re seated, she goes on to tell me about her day. I’m caught up in her excitement. I needed this—this brightness tonight.

  “And it’s all because of you. If you hadn’t pushed me into the door of that rehab center, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

  “You ever going to tell me what happened in there?” I figure she’ll give it up one of these days.

  Her lips form a thin line
. “What’s the one thing you’d never want to share with anyone?”

  “There are things associated with my business that I wouldn’t want anyone to know, but they don’t involve me personally,” I say.

  “But it would be personal to a certain degree if it involves your business.”

  “It would affect me, yes, but it’s not directly about me.”

  She purses her lips and asks, “Then what’s the worst thing about your business you wouldn’t want to share with me?”

  My tongue pokes the inside of my cheek. There are things about clients, even my employees, I can never share with anyone, not to mention the NDAs we all signed. “Nope. Can’t share a thing with you.”

  “So, you see how I feel, then?”

  “Mine is mostly from a legal standpoint. It’s not the same.”

  “It kind of is. You still can’t disclose it.”

  Tilting my head, I ask, “Yours is that bad, huh?”

  “Worse.”

  We eat and she seems so ... happy. The morose, angry woman I picked up from rehab is gone and in her place is a much more lighthearted replacement. Maybe I can find my happy again too.

  She’s sliding a forkful of spaghetti into her mouth when I tell her, “I’ve missed seeing you.”

  The fork comes back out and she sputters, “You have?”

  “Yeah.” There, I said it.

  “I’ve missed you too.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. And that’s not easy to admit.” Her eyes are downcast as she speaks.

  “I can sort of tell,” I say.

  “It stems from my background. I don’t like to get close to anyone. My mother loved me. I know she did. But she was an addict who couldn’t get clean, not to mention she had no education or skills. She was a stripper and lived an ugly lifestyle. Ultimately, she chose the drugs. The end result for me was catastrophic. It’s made me a little leery, you might say.”

  The way her voice trembles and lowers may be an indication of why she didn’t want to go to rehab. Maybe it circles back to her mom.

  “Was the catastrophe your foster care?”