“Who was the photographer who worked on Nicole Kidman’s last movie?” Sophia asked me.
“They’re a father and son team I work with a lot. Johnny and Randy Stewart.”
“Can we get them?”
“For you, anything,” I told her.
She beamed at me. I was glad my first choice was hers. I hung out a bit, watching them shoot a hotel bedroom scene, and I could see there was real chemistry between the two leads and hoped it translated to the screen.
I tiptoed out between retakes and got busy on my cell phone over at the Starbucks café. I checked my messages and emails. I shouldn’t have felt bad, but I was a little surprised to have heard nothing from Isidoro. Not a word.
Focusing on the screenplay, I read most of it, making notes for questions to ask my cast and called the Stewarts to book them for the following morning.
I went home, walked the dogs, then finished reading the screenplay. I typed out a long list of questions for the actors, the director, the cinematographer, and the producers then did all the research I could on the movie. I contacted my favorite office geek at Paramount and got the ball rolling on an official website. Within twenty-four hours we’d have photos, a short teaser uploaded to viral sites like YouTube and Funny or Die, and some tantalizing quotes from the cast.
Making a notation in my notebook, I reminded myself to check with the main players if they had websites, Instagram, Snapchat, Facebook or Twitter accounts, where they could post a photo or two.
Sitting back in my chair, I felt a sense of accomplishment. I’d gotten a lot of work done. Then my phone rang.
“Hey, Ky.” I recognized the nervous, adenoidal tone of my former assistant, Alessa. The one who had taken my job at Lunchbox Productions.
“How are you?” I asked, nicer than I should have been, but my hand had just fallen on the card from Isidoro, putting me in an instant good mood.
“I’m fine, thanks… Listen, I’m just wondering who were you dealing with at McDonald’s on the marketing proposal?”
For a moment, I sat in disbelief. Was she kidding? She’d obviously known I was getting the chop before I had and hadn’t been able to wait to muscle her way into my office. Now she wanted to take over the account I’d created. By all rights, I didn’t need to tell her anything, but I threw her a bone.
“The animation marketing manager at the corporate office,” I said, giving her his name and number.
“Cool. Thanks.”
She ended the call. Without a goodbye. I was such an ass. Why had I helped her? I realized it wasn’t in my nature to be a bastard. I thought about poor Ron Random and how he’d once been one of the sexiest, macho mofos in Hollywood. And now he had to hide his hands.
I was lucky. At least my hands didn’t shake.
* * * *
Even though there was no word from Isidoro, I caved in—texted him and left a voicemail message late at night, convincing myself that maybe he didn’t check his emails. I couldn’t convince myself that all three of his contact points failed and realized I had to drop all efforts to communicate with him. I tried not to think negative thoughts. Our final goodbye had been nice and there was the card.
Had I done enough?
Yes, idiot. You did.
The following morning, I arrived on the set at five o’clock, after leaving strict instructions for my dog walker to take the dogs for a long walk.
I knew from experience that actors loved it when studio people showed up at ground zero as early as they did to chitchat and hang out. I started with some softball questions with Sophia as she began the long hair and makeup process. She was giggly and sweet and my photographers snapped a wonderful shot of her and our male lead in the makeup trailer that was so candid, and yet so stunning, I blasted it out to the Internet universe.
“I’m going to tweet it,” Sophia told me.
Even the makeup girls retweeted the image. We were off to a great start.
We had a busy day, my photo team racing off home to download and send me their images. Together, Catalina, the director and I would choose the best photos. I had let Johnny and Randy Stewart shoot some scenes which they would work into a sixty-second short that, once approved, we’d also blast to the online world.
* * * *
Back home late in the afternoon, I chatted briefly on the phone with Angus, who was in meetings hell. We agreed to have dinner the following night.
“Bring the dogs,” he said. “We’re missing our girl.”
I transcribed all my interviews from my digital recorder. I still had tons more questions, but I’d made a good start. Ron Random had looked as bad as Catalina had said he did, but he was warm and gracious and remembered me from a movie we’d done together six years ago. It had touched me deeply, since Hollywood actors didn’t usually remember you a week after a movie wrapped. It made me want to beg him to please stop drinking, but I had no right. He was his own man. A kind man. A talented man. And a complete and total wreck.
The dogs seemed antsy, and I wondered if they’d had a decent walk. Didn’t seem like it. I leashed them and we walked the neighborhood, my mind on my new job. I kept coming up with questions and I was grateful I’d pocketed my digital recorder to make a note of them. I always had ideas, but I also forgot things—that was the trouble with a creative mind. Thoughts kept coming in like planes landing.
Why hasn’t he called? Why couldn’t he email me something? Even forward me a joke?
Crossing the street at Cantura Place, I was surprised to see Sophia James speed-walking toward me, holding one of those stupid shaking dumbbells that were all the rage on TV all of a sudden. She wore hot-pink running pants and a zippered hoodie. Beside her marched a tall, dark-haired, handsome man in black running pants and black T-shirt.
“Ky!” she squealed, throwing herself into my arms.
My entire body vibrated from the shaking dumbbell. Actually, it was quite…erotic. I could see a serious misuse of this piece of gym equipment in its future.
“I want you to meet my brother. He’s my fitness trainer and nutrition guru. I’ve just been telling him all about you. Ky Marshall, meet Talen James.”
I didn’t want to correct my last name. I was surprised she remembered my first name. Talen was cute. And his name starts with a T!
“She doesn’t listen to any of my nutritional advice,” Talen said, with a disarming grin.
We exchanged pleasantries and Sophia kept beaming. “You must come to dinner tonight,” she said. “Of course, it will be disgustingly early, since we’re all working in the morning. Can you make it around six?”
“I’d love to,” I said.
Talen was kneeling on the ground, making a fuss of my dogs. I was being set up and for the moment, my heart sang. Sophia pointed out her house, a lovely, gothic-style British mansion I’d coveted for years. I’d always wanted to see inside it.
“What should I bring?” I asked.
“Red wine,” she said. “I’m making chateaubriand.”
She gave me another hug and I got the dogs home, fed them, showered then changed.
Not wanting to arrive empty-handed, I drove to Vendome Liquors, where the helpful staff picked out what promised to be some fantastic wine. I drove over to Sophia’s house, and when I arrived, Talen opened the door.
“Something smells great,” I said.
Our gazes locked.
“And looks great, too,” he said, kissing my cheek.
Dinner was fantastic. Mitch Summers, our director, and Sophia seemed completely in love. I was already nursing fantasies of introducing them to Angus and Santos. I was so surprised when Talen mentioned how much he loved Santos’ show. I almost blurted that I knew him and I’d introduce them all, but I felt a little weird because of Isidoro.
He hasn’t called you. You don’t owe him anything.
Sophia had made a fantastic meal and mentioned that she’d trained to be a professional chef. She even, at her husband’s prompting, revealed that she’d once been
the chef for a few celebrities, and she dished on their eating habits. She was hilarious. Tomorrow morning, back on set, I’d ask her what part of her stories we could use for the press kit. It was endearing, colorful material, but I wouldn’t talk shop over dinner.
After dessert and coffee, she lit up a joint and she and her husband smoked. I passed, since it wasn’t my thing, and so did her brother. We talked until about nine o’clock. I could tell they all wanted to retire for the night. I thanked them for a wonderful evening and excused myself. Talen walked me to my car and hugged me.
“I’d love to take you to dinner,” he said. “When are you free?”
Figuring I was a free agent, I agreed to dinner two nights later. He hugged me and it felt nice.
“Give me your number,” he said, programming it into his cell phone under the starlit sky. He texted me a few minutes after I’d walked in the door and let the dogs out for a pee.
Good night, sweet man. So great to meet you. Talen.
I texted back— It was wonderful meeting you. See you on Thursday.
I idly checked my emails and saw nothing but business matters and a forwarded joke from my dad. My parents were wonderful people, living their dream on San Juan Island in the Pacific Northwest. They had once had high hopes that Angus and I would ‘come to our senses’ and fall in love. Now, they too adored Santos. So much so, that they’d been to Tijuana to visit the happy couple long before I had.
My dad had emailed, asking how the weekend had gone. I jotted a brief note back.
I fell asleep, fresh questions in my head, my mind struggling between which man I liked best, Isidoro or Talen, with a T.
* * * *
I’d missed Santos and Angus, even though I’d seen them just a few days before. We chatted like chickens, the two men so happy to see the two dogs that it warmed my heart. Angus and Santos made a wonderful meal of paella, one of their specialties, and they loved the red wine I’d brought, a replica of the one I’d taken to Sophia’s the night before.
They listened with rapt attention as I told them about the movie I was working on and Ron Random’s special clause.
I even told Santos that the brother of his favorite actress, Sophia James, loved his TV show.
“Oh, how wonderful, thank you.” He clinked glasses with me. “Have you spoken to Isidoro?”
I shook my head. They both seemed shocked.
“That’s strange.” Santos frowned. “He called me yesterday. He said he was excited you’re coming to TJ this weekend.”
“He hasn’t returned any of my messages. You think I should still come down?”
“Of course!” they shouted in unison.
“He’s shy!” Angus yelled. “You must come.”
I remembered the way we’d rolled around the sheets. He wasn’t shy. I decided I’d give it a try. I’d had a wonderful weekend. Maybe we needed to see each other again. They spent all evening convincing me. After a couple of glasses of wine, they also convinced me to stay. In the morning when I got up to go home and get ready for work, they begged me to let the dogs stay for the day.
“Pick them up tonight.”
I didn’t mention that I had a date. I agreed and went on with my day.
* * * *
For my date with Talen, we went to Griffith Park for a hike and I was sorry we didn’t have the dogs with us. We wound up at the Observatory, which I hadn’t been to in a long time. It had been closed for refurbishment for a couple of years and had only recently been reopened. It turned out amazing.
We peered through all the high-powered telescopes at the stars and planets. I swung one telescope across the horizon, where I stared all way down to LAX and saw planes landing and taking off with a glimmer of tail lights. I wondered what Isidoro was doing. Man, why hasn’t he called?
Talen and I had dinner at a Thai place down in east Hollywood. He was a fun companion, but as much as I enjoyed our conversation, he was starting to remind me a lot of security guard Joe with his endless talk of trans fats, and body mass index. He questioned me at length about my dietary and exercise habits, and I found myself losing interest fast. He was a nice guy, but his obsession with exercise left me cold. I was lucky to have a good metabolism, so I never put on weight. I could still fit into things I’d worn in college. I worked out a few times a week, but to me, it was something I did for my own good. It was like bathing, trimming my nails or grooming my nose hair. It wasn’t scintillating dinner chat.
He took a call halfway through dinner from a celebrity client. He dropped her name often enough that I was bound to hear it. I found my mind wondering as he discussed the merits of her ab crunches. I started thinking about gardens and Isidoro. I took the plunge and texted him.
I am at the world’s most boring dinner and I am thinking of you. What color underpants are you wearing and was the photo on the card your garden? Xoxo, Ky.
When I hit the send key, I had a moment of panic. Why in the world had I asked about his underpants? What if he didn’t think it was funny?
I left my phone turned on to vibrate in case he called. Talen ended his call and leaned across the table to me.
“Want to split an order of the sweet sticky rice and mango or the fried ice cream?”
“Is that a trick question?”
He laughed, tilting his head, waiting for an answer.
“I guess the rice and mango.”
“The ice cream has fewer calories,” he said, “believe it or not.” He flagged down our waiter.
Our dinner had been nice, but I kept feeling like Talen was grading me on an impossible, invisible score sheet. I was a little unnerved when he told me he was a fire sign. Lisa Bird had predicted a fire sign man whose name started with T, but could Talen be it?
He walked me to my car and kissed me goodnight. He wanted me to go home with him, but I wasn’t ready for that. I agreed to see him the following week for dinner since I’d promised Angus and Santos I’d go to Tijuana for the weekend.
“Don’t forget about me,” Talen said.
“That would be impossible.”
I felt rewarded by my decision not to go home with him by a phone call from Isidoro. I sucked in a breath and answered.
“Hi,” I said.
“Sorry I’ve been busy, Ky. How has your week been?”
Busy? How long does it take to text a guy?
“Fine. How about you?”
“Like I said, very busy, but thank you for your messages. Are you still coming here this weekend?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I can’t wait to see you.”
That cheered me up.
“Listen, I’m working Friday and I won’t finish until late. We’ll see each other Saturday, okay?”
Saturday? I felt crushed. I was now channeling my inner three-year-old boy.
“You’re gardening on a Friday night?”
He chuckled. “Sadly, no. I’ll explain Saturday. And to answer your question, I am wearing white underpants with a yellow trim. You know why?”
I shook my head then realized he couldn’t see me. “No. Why?”
“It’s because it reminds me of you. You are like a Franklin tree. You may not have heard of it since very few exist, but I have one in my garden. I will show it to you sometime. The flowers are white cups, very fragrant, and they have a yellow heart. They are very beautiful and a little bit delicate. But the cup reminds me of your beautiful ass and how much I want to hold you again.”
Oh, boy.
I couldn’t speak.
“And yes, that was my garden in the picture. I have to go, Ky. I’ll see you Saturday.” He blew a kiss in my ear and was gone.
Chapter Five
Talen was very attentive, sending me dozens of text and email messages, forwarding me websites with helpful, healthy tips I deleted on the spot. I liked Isidoro so much and fought to hang onto the delightfully wacky, yet touching, conversation we’d had. I had no more communication from him until Friday as I drove across the border with
Santos and Angus. They heard my cell phone ring and Angus turned to me.
“Is that your boyfriend?”
It sure felt good to think about having one of those, especially if he was Isidoro. I was disappointed to see the call was from Talen. I let it go to voicemail. Ten seconds later, Isidoro called, telling me he was glad I was on my way.
We ended the call quickly because we’d just entered a pocket on the freeway with bad reception. Angus and Santos were excited about our weekend plans.
“If things work out with you and Isidoro, we can do this all the time,” Santos said.
“Yeah!” Angus echoed.
Once we arrived at the apartment in Tijuana, I was astounded to find Isidoro naked and waiting for me in my bed. I detected the outline of his magnificent cock…and other wonderful parts of him.
“Surprise!”
It sure was.
“I know you have a thing for my underpants, but when you see what I have here, you will understand why I couldn’t wait to see you and why I had to take them off.”
He peeled back the bed clothes to show me his raging hard-on. I attacked him with gusto.
“How did you get in here?” I mumbled between kisses.
“I have my ways.” Kiss, kiss. “Santos gave me a key.”
We were breathing hard…both from the lack of breath between kisses and from each other. Dammit. I needed to kiss him. We fell into each other once more. I moved my mouth over his face and throat and down to his nipples. I loved how he squirmed in every place I licked him. I loved the salty taste to his skin. I was naked and rock-hard now. I couldn’t believe I could get that hard just by kissing him.
He put me onto my back, steely determination in his gaze as he opened my legs and began licking and sucking my ass. I cried out. I knew he wanted to fuck me. I wasn’t much of a bottom, but I hungered for him in a way I hadn’t for a long, long time. He was very patient and giving, spending lots of time preparing my ass for his cock. He sucked me to a roaring orgasm to relax me then he lubed me. I detected the scent of mint gel on the air.
About You Page 6