by Jamie Hill
"I'm here,” she replied. “So, what time tomorrow night did you say?"
Troy shook his head, it was starting to ache. “Do you like Chinese? We could pick some up, and take it with us."
"To the motel?” she asked. “So you don't have to take me out?"
He rubbed a hand over his face. “LeAnn, I can take you out if that's what you'd like."
"No, Chinese is fine. What time did you say?"
Following her train of thought was like a roller coaster ride. Tomorrow night would definitely be the end of it. “About seven?"
"Great,” she said. “I'll meet you in the motel parking lot."
"I'm happy to pick you up,” he insisted.
"No, I live out of the way. I'm fine with meeting you. I'll see you tomorrow at seven, Troy."
"See you then.” He hung up, wondering if the sex was worth it. Women seemed to want so much from him. Maybe he should have gone to a hooker, at least then it was a straight-across-the-board deal, no romantic entanglements. But he didn't want to take a chance and end up on the front page of the tabloids. Oh well, he decided, one more hot fuck with LeAnn and then he'd let her down gently. Besides, she didn't even know his last name.
* * * *
Thursday night, Troy got several different kinds of Chinese food and met LeAnn at the motel.
"I wasn't sure what you liked,” he told her as they carried the bags of food into the room.
"Whatever you like. I trust you implicitly.” She smiled at him, and they set everything down on the table.
"You look lovely tonight,” he commented.
"Thank you,” she said sweetly, looking so cute, he had to lean over and give her a kiss. LeAnn slipped her arms around his neck, and the kiss lasted for several minutes.
"The food's getting cold,” Troy murmured to her.
"Cold Chinese is good.” LeAnn reached for his jeans, unbuttoned them and slid one hand down the front. He was already hard, and she squeezed him gently. “Oh, baby,” she moaned, licking her lips. She dropped to her knees in front of him, pulling his cock into her mouth and swallowing his length.
"Cold Chinese is good,” he agreed, and steadied himself for her onslaught.
* * * *
Much later as they lay in bed, he kissed the top of her head. “Hungry yet?"
"Yeah” she replied. “I could eat."
He chuckled at that. She certainly could.
They ate out of the cartons, and washed it down with lukewarm beer. LeAnn turned on the TV and they watched an old movie while she rubbed his shoulders. Troy had one eye on the movie and the other closed. He smiled sleepily to himself. Full stomach, blow job, beautiful woman sitting naked on top of me rubbing my back ... this is the life.
* * * *
They spent an hour resting and the one after that devouring each other before it was time to leave.
"Next time we should order pizza,” LeAnn commented.
Troy wanted to say something but he couldn't after the way she had treated him so tenderly tonight. He would take the man's way out and break it off over the phone ... later. He finished dressing quickly and they walked out to their cars together.
"Call me tomorrow?” she smiled at him.
"I promise.” He kissed her lightly.
* * * *
Troy got extraordinarily busy at work the next day and forgot to call her. He was sound asleep at midnight when his cell phone rang, startling him awake.
"Hello?” he barked into the phone.
"You said you were going to call me tomorrow. Now it's the day after tomorrow."
He blinked, trying to wake up. “LeAnn? Oh Jesus, yeah. I got busy. I'm sorry."
"You promised you were going to call,” she reminded him. “You said I promise."
Troy yawned and flipped on a lamp. Christ, he didn't want to do this now. But he thought he'd better. “I'm sorry. I swear to you, I was overloaded with work today. I really intended to call you."
"When can I see you again? I need to see you, Troy."
"LeAnn.” He rubbed his face with his hand uncomfortably. “I think we need to take a break. I'm really busy right now, and I told you before I wasn't looking for a relationship."
"You also told me you loved me."
Christ. He knew that would come back to haunt him. The things men said to get laid. “Now, LeAnn,” he chided. “You know why I said that."
"Well, Troy, I guess I can't believe the things you tell me, then. I guess you're a liar, Troy."
He was tired and getting fed up with this conversation. Something occurred to him, and he asked, “How did you get my number?"
"Caller ID, of course. You called me Wednesday, remember?"
Shit! He smacked himself in the forehead. Why the fuck hadn't he used a different phone?
"Troy, I need to see you, just one more time. Please, Troy.” She was whining, almost begging.
He hated this. “I'm sorry, LeAnn. Let's be adults about this and go our separate ways. I really enjoyed spending time with you, but it has to end. Goodnight.” He pushed the disconnect button on his phone.
He lay back and looked at the ceiling. He was cursing his libido when his phone rang again. He looked at the Caller ID and cursed her. He pushed the button and said, “It's late, LeAnn. Go to sleep."
"Troy, please don't do this to me!” It sounded like she was crying.
"We had an agreement. It was just supposed to be a little fun, remember? It's not fun anymore, I'm sorry."
"You will be sorry,” she said softly, and Troy pushed the disconnect button again.
Damn, he really hated this. He turned off the cell phone and tossed it on the nightstand. Anyone wanting to reach him could leave a voicemail. He tossed and turned for a while, and then fell back to sleep. When he woke the next morning, he spotted the phone. Yawning, he picked it up and turned it back on. There were forty-seven new mail messages.
Troy stared at his cell phone. He sighed and pushed a button.
Are you sure you want to delete all voicemail?
Quite sure, thank you, and he pushed the button again.
He lit a cigarette and thought about what to do. The first thing was to change his cell phone number, which was simple enough. He'd have to notify about fifty people of the change—that would be a pain in the ass. But then it would be over. He called his mother in New York; it always cheered him to speak with her. By the end of the weekend, he was feeling better about things, energized and focused on the week ahead.
He returned to the studio Monday in a good mood. His producer blew that right out the window by barking at him, “McBride, what the hell have you been up to?"
"Depends. What's up?” Troy smiled nervously.
Harold Bean didn't smile back. “I'm referring to the sixty damned phone messages the switchboard operators took for you this weekend.” He shoved a huge wad of papers into Troy's hands. “We're not your damned answering service."
Troy glanced at the messages. The top one said: Call me today. I mean it. LeAnn. “Shit!” he swore, and looked at Harold. “I'm sorry. I've gotten into somewhat of a mess."
Harold poked him in the chest. “Fix it. The studio isn't happy.” He walked off.
To hell with the studio, Troy thought as he went to his dressing room. I've got the number one rated show on their damned network. He looked at himself in the mirror. What are they going to do to me? Nothing. He dropped the load of messages into the trash can. What was he going to do about LeAnn? Now that was the question.
He looked up as Dave walked into the room. “Hey, McBride."
"Do you have any of my aspirin?” Troy rubbed his temples.
Dave laughed. “Acetaminophen."
Troy shook his head. “Nope, I need the kind with caffeine."
"Then drink it with a fucking Coke.” Dave shoved a couple capsules in Troy's hand.
Troy looked at Dave sheepishly. “I screwed up."
Grinning, Dave hopped onto the sofa. “I heard something juicy was going on!
Spill it."
Troy looked at the pills in his hand, then back at Dave. “Get me a fucking Coke first, will you?"
Dave rolled his eyes and went off in search of a Coke. He returned with one and sat to hear his friend's tale of woe.
Troy told Dave his version of the events: how he met LeAnn, what happened between them, and how it ended up.
"You slept with her twice?” Dave shook his head. “Once, you probably would have been okay. Twice is—like—I don't know, man."
Troy groaned. “What's done is done. My question is what do I do about it?"
Dave waved his hand. “I don't think you'll have to do anything. She's venting—blowing off steam. It'll all die down in a couple days."
"You think?” Troy really wanted this to be true.
"Sure.” Dave nodded. “No one could have a crush on you for longer than a couple days. You're a jerk."
"Thanks. Your compassion is underwhelming."
Dave laughed, and they both looked up as one of the make-up assistants tapped lightly on the door. “Mr. McBride?"
"Yeah, call me Troy, sweetheart.” He looked the girl over—tiny tits but not bad otherwise—big blue eyes and long brown hair. He shook his head to clear it—this was no time to be thinking about a woman.
She looked down, embarrassed. “I'm not sure I should be here ... I told this to Jill, and she thought I should bring it to your attention..."
Dave spoke up “Come in, Becca. If Jill thinks it's important, it must be,” he said, referring to the head make-up artist on the show, and Becca's boss.
Troy motioned her in; noticing Becca carried a laptop computer. “It's kind of embarrassing, really,” she said.
"Sit down,” Troy urged her, and leaned against the wall.
"Well...” She looked at her computer. “I like to surf websites, see what people are saying about the show, and such.” She looked at Troy, and he nodded. “Well, there's one woman on here, she has a whole webpage devoted to you."
Troy and Dave exchanged glances, smiling. Dave said, “There's more than a few of those."
Becca turned her computer on. “Yeah, I know, I've seen a lot of them. But this one is really different. She used to write the usual, silly stuff, but this week, her stories have gotten more intense."
Troy pointed at the computer. “Fire this puppy up. Let's see what's going on."
Becca typed furiously on the keyboard. “It takes a minute for the page to load.” She punched some more buttons. “Dang it! Page not available ... stupid computer."
"Why don't you give us the address, and we can look at it later?” Dave asked her.
"Okay.” She was typing again, trying to get the page up. “This is so irritating!"
Troy smiled at her. “It's okay. I appreciate your efforts."
She stood up. “It's probably nothing. But her stories this week were just weird.” Becca headed for the door, then turned and gave Troy a smile. “Goofy, too. I can't picture you driving through Big Boy for hamburgers in your Mercedes."
Troy's heart caught in his throat. He looked at Becca's computer, and when he spoke it came out raspy. “Why don't you have another look at that site? Maybe the page popped up.” Breathe, Troy.
She opened the laptop up and looked. “Hey, yeah, it did!"
The three of them peered at the screen. There, amidst a huge title labeled Troy's World, were six lovely photos of Troy McBride. There was a big black X through each one of them.
He gulped. “Uh, Dave, I think maybe you'd better call the police."
* * * *
The police, in cooperation with the website server, were able to close down the web page. But not before Troy got a copy of it printed to disc. He sat in front of his computer reading every gory detail about the past week of his life.
LeAnn had been the one to send him flowers, and she had been at the Kismet taping with the sign. She had followed him from the studio to the club, where she picked him up. It was all there, printed on the internet for the world to see. She described their lovemaking in minute detail. He had been the perfect fool.
The website and cell phone were set up under a fake name and address. Troy could offer no information about LeAnn; so the police were at a dead end until she made further contact.
There were death threats called in to the studio, so they upped their security. Only a few weeks remained in the Kismet season and no one wanted to take any chances with their star—especially the star himself. He kept his guard up, and was as wary as he had ever been.
He stuck close to Dave, but everything remained quiet. One evening when Dave forgot some paperwork in his office, Troy waved him off. He was tired and didn't want to walk back inside the building. “I'll call you when I get home,” he said, and whistled as he climbed into his car. He raised his keys to the ignition and felt the sting of sharp, cold steel. He looked out the corner of his eye and saw a hunting knife with a six inch serrated blade pressed against his neck.
"Hello, LeAnn. I've been expecting you."
"Hello, Troy, my love,” she spoke into his ear. “I'm sure you've got a global positioning system and all kinds of Batman shit on this car, but don't use them. We don't want to be disturbed tonight."
Troy turned to look at her, but the knife pressed into his flesh. “LeAnn, love, I'm afraid it's too late for that. You're seriously disturbed already."
"He says brazenly, with the knife to his neck...” She slapped a pair of handcuffs around the steering wheel. “Fasten this to your hand."
"And if I don't?"
"My dream can be fulfilled with your face intact, or slashed up. The choice is yours."
"Fastening the handcuffs,” Troy replied, and snapped them around his wrist.
"Much better.” She leaned forward and let him see her face.
Troy was shocked at her unkempt, wild-eyed appearance. He started to feel slightly uncomfortable.
"Start the car and drive."
"To where?"
"Out of the parking lot and left."
He drove. “Left on Collins?"
"Yes.” She shoved the knife again so he could feel it. “No tricks."
"No tricks,” he repeated. “So, how have you been?” It was a weak attempt at humor.
LeAnn chuckled. “Why, I've been just fine, thank you. A little enraged that my website was shut down, but I've managed to work around it."
"That was quite a website, darling. You certainly had me fooled."
She looked at him strangely. “I wasn't trying to fool you, Troy. I was trying to love you, and have you love me back. Obviously you're not capable of that."
He glanced her way and said, “I'm sorry you think so. I enjoyed the time we spent together."
"Good. Glad you feel that way. Turn right at the next corner."
"Right at Meade?” he asked.
"Yes.” She shoved the knife again. “We're going to be spending more time together."
"Is that so?” he asked calmly.
"Yes that's so,” she snipped at him. “You have something I want."
"And that would be..."
She put her face up close to his. “Why, a baby, of course. You're going to give me a baby."
Troy bit back a surprised chuckle. “Um, okay. How exactly is that going to work?"
She shoved the knife at him as she talked. “If you wouldn't have been such a prude, I could be pregnant already. But no, Mr. Safe Sex ... turn left."
"Left at Wyatt?” he asked and she slapped his shoulder.
"Turn the fucking car, what are you, a fucking road map?"
Troy turned and cleared his throat. “Uh, LeAnn, I can see a couple problems with your plan."
She smirked and twisted the knife at his neck so it drew blood. “Pray tell, what, my Lord?"
He glanced at her, hoping to get free before she fell completely off the deep end. “I've heard of men being raped, but I'm not exactly sure how it's done."
"I'll tell you how,” she hissed at him. “You handcuffed to my bed
, an erectile dysfunction drug and my magic touch. I think we'll get along just fine, lover."
He swallowed. A few weeks ago, he might have gone for that scene voluntarily. My, how quickly things change. “You know, you don't always get pregnant the first time."
"That's not what they told us in high school."
"Even so..."
"Even so!” she mimicked. “I guess I'll have to hang on to you until I'm sure your boys have done their job."
"Great,” he said to himself, and felt the sharp knife point again.
"A comment, Mr. McBride?” she asked.
"No, nothing,” he said politely.
"Turn right here, and don't announce the name of the street, please."
Troy did as she asked, and she pointed to a small house. “Pull in there.” She reached in her pocket and pulled out a garage door opener. She clicked it and instructed him, “Pull into the garage.” He did, and parked. “Now, I'm going to come around and let you out. I'm sure you think you can overpower me, but I can do a hell of a lot of damage with my knife before you do. And then you'll run into my brother, Bubba. He's waiting for us in the house. Bubba doesn't like you very much. So of course, if you hurt me, he'll have to hurt you."
"Of course,” Troy answered.
LeAnn got out and opened his door. “I'm going to unhook this handcuff, and attach it to my wrist. I swear to God, if you try anything, I'll cut you."
"I won't try anything,” Troy assured her sincerely.
She took the cuff off the steering wheel and latched it to her own arm. “Get out, we're going in."
Troy got out of the car, trying not to touch or otherwise upset her. “To meet Bubba,” he said.
LeAnn laughed, and was caught off-guard when three sets of headlights appeared in her driveway, one right after another.
"Freeze, police!" someone shouted, and LeAnn turned toward them. She pulled Troy in front of her and stuck the knife under his chin.
"We're frozen,” Troy said loudly, and she kicked him.