by Priya Grey
“Promise me you’re not going to get tired of my pussy?” I ask, delivering my next scripted line.
He shakes his head and kisses me again. “Never.”
“Good.”
I tug on his shaft and guide it between my legs.
As he slowly enters me, I wrap myself around him. We rock back and forth gently.
We make tender love. We’re both grateful to be in each other’s presence, our bodies united into one. This time, it’s not about having a mind-blowing orgasm. It’s not even about sex. It’s about our connection, our union.
This time, when I orgasm, it arrives quietly. It takes its time… slowly ringing through my body like a sustained note of music. I’m more than satisfied. I am fulfilled. When we’re done making love, I lay my head against his chest.
My bliss, however, is soon tainted by sadness when I remind myself that it wasn’t me he was making love to.
Ashley, I tell myself. You have no idea how lucky you were to have found a man like Jackson.
“If you could choose, would you want a boy or a girl?” he asks, running his fingers through my hair.
“I don’t care,” I reply. “Just as long as it’s yours.”
We lay like that for a long, quiet moment, then I fall asleep.
I wake up the following morning and turn over in bed. He’s standing by the window, fully dressed, staring at me.
I wasn’t supposed to have fallen asleep. The script doesn’t mention that I sleep over.
I apologize to him.
“Don’t be silly,” he says with a subdued smile as he looks at me.
“How long have you been standing there?” I ask him.
He shrugs, the morning light shining on his handsome face. “A while.” He then admits, “I didn’t want to wake you. You looked peaceful.”
I slowly nod. Then I realize I should get going. After all, the memory is over. There is no longer a part for me to play… until next time.
“I’ll get out of your way,” I tell him, sitting up in bed.
“You don’t have to leave,” he says shaking his head. “You can stay here as long as you like. I, on the other hand, have to go downtown for a meeting. DJ Mendacity wants to see the painting I did for him.”
“That’s so cool that you did a painting for DJ Mendacity,” I reply. Kristi and I saw him last summer at a concert festival in the park.
He simply shrugs as he crosses the room. “I guess.”
He then turns to me and says, “Just lock up when you leave.”
“Will do.”
As he’s about to walk out of the bedroom, he suddenly stops and turns to me.
“That dinner we ate last night. Did you cook that?”
I nod.
“Have you ever thought about owning your own restaurant one day?”
“Yes, more like a cafe,” I admit.
He stares at me with a kind grin. “Well, Rebecca, I think you should do it. That meal was delicious. One of the best meals I’ve had in a long time.”
I can’t help but smile from ear-to-ear. Not only because he complimented my cooking, but he said my name. Not hers. I love hearing him say my name.
“Thank you,” I reply. “That means a lot coming from you.”
“Well, I mean it,” he affirms. “You have a lot of talent.”
We stare at each other. And for the first time, I feel like he’s really looking at me. Not her.
The moment lingers for a long time, until he realizes he’s going to be late.
“Well, like I said: stay as long as you want, just lock up when you leave. And I’ll send you the next memory later.”
“Great,” I reply. “I’m looking forward to it.”
It’s the truth. Jackson has no idea how much I’m looking forward to the next memory. From now on, I will eagerly anticipate every moment I get to spend with him. The fact that he’s acknowledged me by my name just now, has made me even more attracted to him – if such a thing were possible.
We share one last look. Then he finally turns and leaves the room. I hear the door open and close behind him.
I lay in bed for another half hour, reliving the memory of last night – how he broke down in tears and I comforted him. Then how we made sweet, tender love in his bed. As I’m reliving that beautiful moment, I notice the painting hanging over the bed. It’s similar to the portrait Jackson painted of me in his studio, but this one is slightly different. I notice different shades of color.
This must be the original painting Jackson did of Ashley, the one from our first memory. Seeing her staring back at me weirds me out, so I get out of bed and get dressed.
I decide to freshen up and apply some lipstick before leaving the apartment. As I get ready in front of a dresser mirror, I think about my arrangement with Jackson.
When I first started this, I thought it was crazy. What kind of psycho wants to reenact the memories he shared with his dead wife by hiring someone to pretend to be her? But now, after multiple ‘performances’, I understand why Jackson went to such great lengths to relive these memories. Who wouldn’t want to experience true love all over again, if given the chance? After I finish applying my lipstick, I place it down on the dresser. Then it accidentally rolls off, falling to the floor.
I watch, annoyed, as it rolls behind the dresser.
“Great,” I mumble.
I kneel down and reach under the dresser, to see if I can retrieve the lipstick, but it’s too far back. It’s rolled up against something. The only way to get it is to slide the dresser out a little.
I push the dresser a few inches away from the wall and notice that my lipstick has rolled up against a book that is on the floor. I retrieve my lipstick and the book.
As I leaf through the book, I realize it’s not just any book. It’s a diary. Her diary.
“Who keeps a diary anymore?” I wonder to myself. After all, most people these days advertise everything they are thinking or doing online for the world to see. But as I flip through the pages and read, I discover why Ashley wanted to keep the contents of her diary secret.
It threatens everything Jackson believes about her.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jackson
“This painting is the bomb.”
“I’m glad you like it,” I tell DJ Mendacity.
“Like it,” he exclaims, patting me on the shoulder. “It’s incredible. I love what you did with the purple and blues. And I’m really digging the collage technique.”
“I wasn’t sure if you were going to like that,” I concede. “It’s a little different from what we discussed over the phone.”
I decided to create an original painting for DJ Mendacity. I just didn’t feel right selling him one of my older works – like Harry suggested.
“Hey, what do I know about painting?” DJ Mendacity admits with a grin. “You went with your instincts. And they were right on the money. I’m going to hang this beauty right in the foyer of my Miami mansion.”
“That sounds like an appropriate place,” adds Harry, who’s standing beside us, but has been strangely quiet this entire time.
“I can’t thank you enough, man, for doing this for me. It means a lot,” says Mendacity. “I’ve been a fan of yours for a long time. When I finally hit the big time, after I got the mansion in Miami, I said my next big splurge was going to be a Jackson Miller original. And you delivered.”
“I’m happy you’re pleased.”
“So, how does this work?” he asks. “Should I have my people swing by and pick it up.”
Harry shakes his head. “I’ll have someone from my office arrange the shipment to your address.”
“Perfect,” he says as his phone begins to ring. He glances to see who’s calling. “Shit, I have to take this,” he tells both Harry and me.
“No worries,” I reply with a shrug.
He steps aside and answers his phone. As he walks to a corner of the room for privacy, I turn and look at Harry. “You’re awfully quiet to
day.”
Harry simply shrugs.
“I thought you’d be a little more excited about making an easy million,” I tease.
Harry stares at me with annoyance. He asks in a serious tone, “Are you still seeing that girl?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes. And I’m going to keep seeing her.”
“I don’t have a good feeling about this, Jackson.”
“Really?” I say surprised. “Because of her, you’re going to make millions of dollars. If I wasn’t seeing her, I wouldn’t be painting. That means no more money for our little business.”
“This isn’t about money,” Harry whispers to me. “What you’re doing just isn’t right.”
“I’m tired of people telling me what is right,” I hiss to him, trying to make sure our conversation isn’t overheard. “And since when do you not care about money?”
“Come on,” Harry responds. “Don’t be an asshole like that.”
“I’m not being an asshole. I’m just doing what I need to so I can work again.”
Harry scoffs. “Come on, Jackson. This isn’t about the work. You might be telling yourself that, but it’s bullshit. You’re obsessed with Ashley. You’re no different from an addict. She’s become your addiction. You can’t let her go.”
Harry and I are locked in an intense stare.
I finally shrug my shoulders. “Can you blame me? Ashley was perfect.”
“She wasn’t perfect,” Harry mutters.
“What are you trying to say?” I ask him. But Harry doesn’t get a chance to respond, because DJ Mendacity interrupts our conversation.
“Sorry about that,” he shouts from across the room as he puts away his cell phone. “That was my agent. He wants me to give a lifetime achievement award at the Grammys. Anyway, where were we?”
Harry breaks our stare and turns to him. “I was just telling you that my office will arrange the delivery of the painting.”
“Perfect.” DJ Mendacity then looks at both of us with a wide grin. “Well, now that all the details have been discussed, what do you guys say we grab a drink and celebrate me being the proud owner of a Jackson Miller original?”
I shoot Harry a suspicious look. “What do you say, Harry? You feel like celebrating?”
Harry looks at me and then at DJ Mendacity. “Sure,” he says with a shrug.
But I can tell that Harry is still annoyed with me. My arrangement with Rebecca really gets under his skin. I’m not sure why.
“Great,” says DJ Mendacity as he pats both our shoulders. “There’s a bar in Midtown that I’ve been told is the bomb.”
The three of us leave my studio and head out to celebrate.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Rebecca
After I finish reading Ashley’s diary, I immediately call Kristi. She just finished a recording session and is able to meet me near the apartment. When I tell her what I discovered in the diary, Kristi is just as shocked as I am.
“Do you think Jackson knows?” she asks.
I shake my head as we walk around the upscale neighborhood. “Why would he want to relive all these memories if that actually happened?” I tell her. “I don’t think Jackson knows any of this.”
We cross several blocks in silence. Then Kristi finally says what I don’t want to hear. “You have to tell him.”
I stop walking and stare at her, conflicted. “I don’t want to hurt him that way. This will destroy him. Kristi, I don’t think you understand just how much he loves her.”
She understands the tough spot I’m in. We continue to walk several more city blocks.
“It’s a real bummer,” Kristi comments. “Based on everything you told me, I thought what they had was real. I guess it was too good to be true.”
“It was real,” I reply. “From Jackson’s point of view, at least. I really believe that. Everything he felt for her was genuine.”
Kristi sadly shakes her head. “Poor fool.”
“I don’t know how I’m going to tell him,” I ponder. “He’s going to be so heartbroken.”
“It’s better to have your heart broken,” remarks Kristi, “Than live a lie.”
She abruptly stops walking and turns around. She runs back up the block.
“What is it?” I ask chasing after her. I join her in front of an empty storefront window. There is a For Lease sign hanging in the window of what appears to be a vacant bakery.
“Check it out, Rebecca,” says Kristi as she peers through the window. “This used to be a small bakery. You should see how much it leases for and finally open up your own place,” she suggests with a smile.
As I peer through the window, I realize Kristi is right. This used to be the location of a small bakery, and I can see the semblance of a mini industrial kitchen in the back.
“I can’t afford the lease on a place like this, especially in this neighborhood,” I remark taking a few steps back from the window. “The reason I have this arrangement with Jackson in the first place is because I don’t have enough money to help out my parents, remember?”
Kristi turns from the window and faces me. “I know. But you have to visualize yourself owning this space. Because if you visualize it happening, it will.” She darts to my side and grabs me by the shoulders.
“Close your eyes and visualize yourself having your very own cafe, right here, Becca.”
I shoot her a suspicious look. “You’re getting all New Age on me again. What gives?”
Kristi shrugs. “Sorry. I just finished narrating one of those ‘Get Rich Quick’ self-help books.”
“Taking a break from the romance novels?”
She shakes her head. “I’m going to narrate another steamy romance tomorrow. But I think this self-help book might have a point. If you can’t visualize yourself being successful, chances are you won’t be.” Kristi squeezes my shoulders. “So, what I want you to do, Becca, is look at that empty storefront and picture your name over it. Becca’s Bakery and Cafe.”
“I thought you hated that name,” I quip. “Didn’t you prefer Buns-in-the-Oven?”
“Don’t be a pain-in-the ass,” Kristi replies. “Just imagine owning this space. And all these people sitting inside, enjoying your desserts. I’ll do it with you.”
She grabs my hand as we both stare at the empty storefront. She wants me to imagine this empty space transforming into the cafe I always dreamed of owning.
“Can you see it?”
“Not really,” I admit. “I’m still thinking about Jackson.”
Kristi hangs her head and sighs. “I knew you were falling in love with him.”
“I can’t help it,” I confess. “It’s impossible not to fall in love with him. Now, I have to break his heart. And I don’t want to.”
We leave the empty storefront and continue walking in silence. I’m disheartened, but I know Kristi is right. I have to tell Jackson what I discovered in Ashley’s diary.
But I’m dreading it.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Jackson
Shit. I think it might rain. I can smell it in the air. When I look up, I see dark thunderclouds blanketing the evening sky. It can’t rain. It didn’t rain years ago when I first experienced this moment. It can’t rain now. The weather can’t ruin this memory. I won’t let it. This is too special a moment.
I force myself to forget about the weather and instead focus on the memory I want to relive.
Taking a deep breath, I step back in time. I recall that beautiful evening when Ashley and I were walking, hand-in-hand, through the city park at night. Ashley had just captivated an audience with her performance in a highly regarded theater production in the city’s park. She had the lead role in the play.
I was so proud of her.
It’s hard to believe that only a few years ago she almost gave up acting because of some bad reviews. Now, years later, Ashley is being lauded as an incredible actress with a bright future. There were many celebrities in attendance at this evening’s performance. I couldn�
�t help but look around whenever she was on stage to gauge their reactions. Everyone was enthralled by my beautiful wife’s talent.
“You really blew everyone away tonight,” I rave.
“Thank you,” she says turning to me with a smile. I notice the exuberant afterglow in her eyes and face – the joy that comes from walking off stage to thunderous applause. She leans her head against my shoulder as we continue walking along a narrow pathway. It’s like we’re the only people in the park this evening, no one else is in sight. I look up at the sky and try to pretend I see the full moon shining above us, just like it did years ago. I grimace at the dark thunderclouds that are blocking my view. It better not rain, I mutter to myself.
“You played a big part in my success tonight,” she comments, snapping me back into the moment.
“Me?” I say confused. “I didn’t have anything to do with your success tonight. You were the one up on stage. You were the one captivating everyone with your performance.”
She stops and looks at me with those beautiful sapphire-blue eyes. “But if it wasn’t for you believing in me all these years – building up my confidence after every terrible review – tonight would never have happened. If I didn’t have your support, I probably would’ve given up on my dream a long time ago.”
I look into her eyes and see gratitude. But she’s giving me far too much credit.
“You know you’re tougher than you think,” I point out, still holding onto her hand.
She smirks and looks down at the ground. We continue walking along the winding pathway – underneath trees, alongside a babbling brook. It doesn’t feel like we’re in the city right now. The park is quiet, except for the few birds I hear rustling in the trees.
I stop walking and pull her close to me.
“You know how happy you make me?”
She looks at me and smiles. “The only thing I know,” she says softly, “Is that you make me happier.”