by Suzie Nelson
Then, just as he was making a name for himself as a leading man, she was diagnosed with a terminal illness.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Pollock,” the doctor said, shaking his balding head and cleaning his wire-frame glasses on his white doctor’s coat, “but there’s nothing we can do. The tumor is too big.”
Sasha turned away from the man and pressed his forehead to the cool glass of his mother’s hospital room, looking in at her frail, sleeping form. He felt tears sting his eyes, but he was a good actor. He wasn’t about to cry in public. Not here. Not now.
Three months later, the day before his twenty-fourth birthday, she’d died. That day he did cry in public. He held her skeletal hand in both of his and laid his head on her emaciated chest and sobbed, not caring who saw. But the doctors and nurses attending his mother were discreet and no photos of that day had ever been leaked to the press.
Ever since then, Sasha had felt as if he were floating through life. He became more and more famous and made more and more money. More and more women fell all over themselves to sleep with him. But he was just going through the motions. He bought big houses on the French Riviera, in New York, L.A., even one in Thailand. He had his ranch and his beloved horses; horses that he’d imported from around the world - from Saudi Arabia to Slovenia, to Iceland. He had his getaway in the Oregon wilderness, his yacht, his fishing boat, his fleet of expensive cars. Bruce. He even had his own Russian cleaning lady: a spry old babushka who kept the marble floors of his L.A. home gleaming (and with whom he had definitely never slept).
But his mother had always been the person who challenged him; who questioned his actions, his decisions; who pushed him to do better and make himself a better person. Above all, she was the one who made him laugh.
Now, no matter how many of his beautiful co-stars he brought to his expensive homes for the night – no matter how many cleaning ladies and bodyguards he hired - he was always alone.
Sasha sighed and closed his eyes. He felt exhausted.
Only as they drove up the long, curving stone drive to Sasha’s L.A. mansion, did the movie star open his eyes again. He needed to go over the script for his latest film once more. Shooting started tomorrow.
“Bruce,” he called as they got out of the car, “would you mind bringing me one of your impeccable cortados in the upstairs study? I’m going to do some reading before bed.”
Bruce nodded. Sasha didn’t like to keep a lot of staff on hand and Bruce ended up playing something between bodyguard, butler, barista, and best friend. He didn’t mind. He liked the freedom Sasha gave him. He liked Sasha himself, if he was honest.
Bruce saw Sasha comfortably installed in the study and went to prepare the coffee. While he personally couldn’t drink coffee after five in the afternoon if he wanted to sleep that night, Bruce knew that his employer loved a coffee in the evening as he wrapped up his day. As he waited for the espresso to drip into the small white porcelain cup, he opened a cupboard and pulled out a few of Sasha’s favorite cookies: dark chocolate and candied ginger. Popping one into his own mouth, Bruce savored the melt of the bittersweet chocolate and the zing of the ginger. It seemed fitting to him that these were Sasha’s favorites. They were a lot like him in many ways.
Placing two cookies on another plain white saucer, he carried both up to Sasha.
“Ah, thank you,” said Sasha, leaning back in his captain’s chair and smiling as Bruce entered the study and placed the saucers on his long wooden desk.
Bruce could always tell when Sasha wasn’t keen on doing his readings, so he dawdled, tidying this and that in the warm, dark room. The pungent smell of leather from the two chairs filled the room, mixing with the spicy scent of the beeswax polish the housekeeper used on the floors.
The study was narrow, one wall entirely taken up with floor to ceiling bookshelves crammed with scripts, novels, history books and first editions of Russian poetry, which Sasha collected with an intensity bordering on obsession. There were a few feet of dark wooden floorboards, covered with a rusty red woolen rug from Mexico, and then Sasha’s enormous desk with its green lamp and piles of papers and one, solitary computer. The computer was hooked up to speakers that hidden in the highest, darkest corners of the bookshelf and constantly filled the room with instrumental music from around the world – none of which Bruce had ever been able to identify. At the far end of the room was oxblood leather wingback armchair, a mahogany side table with a potted fern, and a narrow window with a view of the dark, twinkling Pacific far below them. Sasha loved that room and so did Bruce.
“How is the script progressing?” Bruce asked as he put away the books that lay in piles on the floor. He was the only person other than Sasha who understood Sasha’s filing system.
Sasha shrugged, sipping his coffee with closed eyes. “They’ve made some pretty substantial changes this time. I don’t know that it’s made it better.”
“I thought you were really looking forward to this movie?” Bruce asked.
“I was. I am,” he corrected himself. “But, really, I signed on because most of the shooting will be done up in Oregon and Washington. I just want to get there already.”
“Ah,” said Bruce.
Sasha flipped through the script again, frowning, “Though Mack’s usually a pretty understanding guy. I’ll ask him about some of these dialogue changes on the day off and see if I can convince him to cut some of the more clichéd stuff,” he said, referring to the director.
“Remind me, sir, what’s the movie about again?”
Sasha smiled. “An international spy that infiltrates a group of eco-warriors trying to save some old growth forest up north, one of whom is a nuclear physicist he’s supposed to kidnap.”
“Let me guess, the physicist is a beautiful woman, they fall in love, and he ends up supporting the activists’ cause against his former employers.”
Sasha laughed, nodding, “Something like that.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll be happy to be running around in the woods.”
“You know me too well, Bruce,” said Sasha. “Which reminds me, Tansy just sent me the itinerary. We fly to Oregon in two days. What would I do without her?”
“Excellent. I’ll start packing,” Bruce smiled and finally left his employer to his work.
Like Bruce, Tansy was one of Sasha’s few permanent staff members. She was his personal assistant and had been with them for two years now. Bruce suspected Sasha that had only hired her for her long legs and exotic good looks, but it turned out that Tansy was a no-nonsense woman who had made it very clear from the get-go that she wasn’t interested in sleeping with Sasha. Men, it seemed, were not her thing. And just as well, thought Bruce. It had made her relationship with Sasha all the stronger. There weren’t many women who could work so closely with Sasha and not be just a little bit tempted. And Sasha always knew how to play that to his advantage. But not with Tansy.
Chapter 3
When Claire and Angie finally made it back to Angie’s place that night, they were both more than a little drunk.
“Stay here tonight,” Angie said as they staggered out of the taxi. “We can watch romantic comedies and paint our nails or something.”
Claire laughed. “Honey, if we try to paint out nails in this state we’ll have nail polish all the way down to our knees.”
Angie giggled. “Okay, fair. But still. You should stay. We can go for brunch tomorrow and skype Odette. It’ll be just like old times,” she pleaded, making enormous puppy eyes at Claire.
Claire sighed, “Okay, okay, I surrender. I just can’t take those eyes. You’re dangerous, Angie.”
Angie slung an arm around her best friend and laughed, “Yep. I always did know just how to lure you in.”
“Oooh,” Claire said as they waved to the night guard in the lobby. “I have the perfect plan.”
He smiled as they stumbled into the elevator, “Have a good night, ladies,” he called.
“He totally thinks we’re about to go do it,” said
Claire as she leaned against the elevator’s mirrored walls.
“Wha-at?” Angie replied. “Ew. That’s, like, incestuous. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Claire. You know I think you’re gorgeous, but you’re basically family.”
Claire giggled, looking up at her taller friend. “Right? It would be like the Olsen twins sleeping together or something. Except way better looking, obviously. But no, did you see the way he was looking at us? Definitely thought we were about to get it on.”
“Oh my God, what if he thinks we’re a couple?” Angie asked. “I might be the building lesbian and not even know it!”
Claire snorted with laughter. “Nah, babe, the ginger from 3D is totally the building lesbian. Trust me.”
“How would you know? You met her that one time in the lobby for, like, thirty seconds,” Angie crossed her arms.
“Yeah, and then I met her that weekend at Tommy’s and we made out in the coat check,” said Claire, referring to her favorite bar.
“Seriously?” Angie gaped at her friend. “Why didn’t you tell me this at the time?”
Claire shrugged. “I forgot. And she wasn’t really very good. Though I was considering going home with her just so I could surprise you in the morning for brunch. But Josh was still around then and he never really did appreciate my surprises.”
That was true. Josh had always been jealous of Claire and Angie’s relationship. It didn’t help that Claire had a habit of just turning up unannounced with a bottle of wine for an impromptu hang out – a habit she and Angie had developed when they lived in the same college dorm, while Josh had lived across campus in an all-men residence.
“He used to think we were sleeping together too,” Angie admitted. She’d never told Claire that he had accused her of cheating on him with Claire.
“What?” Claire rounded on her friend, looking outraged. “That little fucking cocksucker! How dare he! Ugh, I bet he fucking fantasized about it.”
“Nah, he used to get really mad and accuse me of cheating. He said I spent too much time with you and I needed to rethink my priorities.”
Claire kicked the elevator door with the polished toe of her shoe. “Well, he had that right at least. You needed to dump his pathetic ass. What a loser.”
She sighed, “I can see why you never told me that, though. I’d have given him a bloody nose.”
Angie nodded. “Yep, that’d be why,” she smiled. “But hey, now he’s gone and I’m free and we can spend as much time together as we want without worrying about hurting some idiot’s feelings.”
“So true,” said Claire, smiling up at Angie. “Hey, I wonder if Odette’s still up. We should call her now! We can have a late night Skype date.”
Angie laughed, “Maybe she’ll wanna watch a movie with us.”
Claire clapped her hands together, “Oh my God, I hope so. Nothing is more hilarious than watching movies with Odette.”
Odette got very involved with movies and would often yell advice at the characters as the story went on. While this wasn’t great if you wanted to focus on a compelling drama, if you were just watching a silly rom-com, it made the movie about a million times better.
“Oh my God, YES!” said Angie as the elevator finally arrived at her floor.
As they entered the apartment, Claire sighed. She loved Angie’s condo. It was so calm and uncluttered and pristine, like an oasis high above the hectic cacophony of Los Angeles. “Did you get new curtains?” she asked running her hands across the white linen covering the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Angie nodded. “The fabric was on sale. I made them myself, can you believe it?”
“I can,” said Claire, turning back to her friend. “Ever since you’ve bought this place you’ve become Martha Stewart Jr. They look great.”
The women kicked off their shoes and Angie poured them both tall glasses of orange juice. A few years ago it would have been another bottle of wine but, now in their late twenties, they just couldn’t drink like they had in college. Angie knew she’d thank herself for this orange juice in the morning.
Claire took her glass with a smile and they toasted each other before Claire pulled out her phone. Dialing Odette’s number, they waited to see if she’d pick up. A second later, their friend’s beautiful face appeared on the tiny screen. Her hair was pulled back in a green and gold patterned scarf and she was wearing large gold earrings and matching eye shadow.
“Oh, look at you!” said Claire. “Have you been out on the town tonight, young lady?”
Odette laughed. “I could ask you the same thing! I can see the collar of that favorite Dior dress of yours from here, Claire.”
Claire glanced down at her dark blue dress and made a face. “You got me,” she grinned. “We’ve been out for dinner and drinks with the girls. And check out Angie’s ensemble. Doesn’t she look amazing? Look at her shoes!” Claire held up her phone and Angie stood so that Odette could get the full effect of her outfit.
“Oh my God, those red shoes!” Odette clapped her hands. “I’d forgotten about those! Angie, you look incredible!”
Claire waggled her eyebrows as Angie sat back down and they brought the phone close again. “You know who else thought she looked incredible tonight?”
“Uhhh…some hot guy?” Odette hazarded a guess, reclining on her own sofa and sipping a glass of water.
“Yeah. Sasha Pollock,” Claire replied.
Odette choked on her mouthful of water. “Seriously? He was at the same restaurant as you? He talked to you?”
Claire grinned, having gotten the reaction she wanted. “Yep, in the very same restaurant as us. But wait, Oh, it gets even better. Our little Angie went and walked right into him!”
“Seriously?” Odette looked from Claire to Angie, wanting confirmation before she believed Claire’s outlandish claim.
Angie nodded sheepishly. “I was getting up to go to the bathroom and someone said something funny and I was laughing and not paying attention and there you go.”
“And?” Odette’s eyes widened. “What happened? What did he say?”
Claire grinned bigger than the Cheshire Cat, “He said he liked her dress.”
“He didn’t,” Odette gaped.
“He did. They had, like, a whole conversation.”
“It was three sentences,” Angie interjected, trying to keep to the facts.
“And he said, get this, that she should wear that dress more often!” Claire finished triumphantly, ignoring Angie’s interruption. “How do you like them apples?”
Odette shook her head in amazement. “That, Angie, is probably the most any actual mortal has ever gotten out of Sasha Pollock. Congratulations. Though, I mean, he’s right. You should definitely wear that dress more often,” Odette grinned.
Angie giggled, “Thank you.” Truth be told, she had to admit that she was pretty blown away by the whole thing. He really had been beautiful.
“I wish I had something equally exciting to report from up here but it’s all quiet on the Northern border, I’m afraid,” Odette continued. “I told you that I broke up with Terence, though, right?”
“Uhh, no,” said Claire and Angie in unison. Terence was – or had been – Odette’s amazingly beautiful surfer boyfriend that regularly won championships around the world – meaning he’d taken Odette to some of the most beautiful beaches on the planet.
“But he was beautiful!” Claire protested.
“And he took you on the world’s most incredible vacations!” Angie added.
“And you said his cock was, and I quote, ‘the sexual equivalent of a still-hot chocolate torte topped with whipped cream’,” Claire reminded her.
Odette sighed, “Yes, I did say that, didn’t I? Well, his cock – his whole body – might have been amazing but his brain was not. He was just…he was boring. There’s no nice way to say it.”
“But you’ve been together for over a year,” Angie said. “That’s like a decade in Odette years.” Odette was not known for her lasting relationshi
ps. She always said that Angie was doing that for her.
“I know, I know,” Odette nodded. “I honestly don’t know how I lasted that long. Well, I mean, I do. It was because of the sex. But I just couldn’t anymore. My brain was atrophying.”
“Fair enough,” said Claire. “Pity about the sex, though.”
Odette groaned, “Oh my God, you’re telling me. Everyone I’ve slept with since has seemed so small in comparison. It’s killing me.”
“Poor baby,” said Angie, rolling her eyes. “It’s so hard being you.”
Odette stuck her tongue out. Like her short relationships, she was also known for her short recovery time afterward. She could break up with someone and be sleeping with someone else before the first guy had even realized what had happened.