by Dylan Allen
She bites her lip in frustration. “I know you are on the right side of this issue, but you don’t understand. I don’t want people to know. It’s not even about shame or pride; it’s survival. I’m an American. I’ve lived here since I was two years old. This country is all I know and I don’t want my life to be even more distilled than it is. I want to have a place where I can just be Lucía, the girl who loves yoga, tacos and writing.”
She puts a hand over heart. She rubs the spot, slowly. “I have a tattoo. Over my heart. It says Libertad. It’s Spanish for freedom. I got it when my first DACA application was approved. Suddenly, I could go to work, rent an apartment—all of that. I promised myself I’d never live like a prisoner again. If I can earn money, support myself and live quietly, then maybe I can stay here and no one will notice.” She stops talking. Her shoulders heave like she’s out of breath. I feel her fatigue and her hurt.
There’s a new distance between us. Borne out of her recitation of all the reasons why not. “I didn’t know . . . I haven’t seen your tattoo. I didn’t know they were the same,” I say, desperate to make a connection, to soothe her . . . and myself.
“They’re not the same,” she says quietly. “Yours is a declaration.” She points her chest. “Mine is a plea.” Her shoulders square and she looks at me.
“I don’t want to call attention to myself. Every decision I make has real consequences and I need to weigh them. See if they’re worth the risk. If they see me as an agitator, I could be detained at any moment. And they wouldn’t have any trouble finding me. Let’s go to YouTube and we can watch prominent activists being detained outside of speaking engagements, even outside their offices.”
I’m alarmed at the picture she paints, but confused.
“Why would they deport you? You’re enrolled in DACA. You’re productive, you’re contributing.”
She bows her head and says softly, “I applied to renew my DACA application four months ago, Reece. It’s still pending. They might not approve it.”
These words send a shot of real fear down my spine. “Why wouldn’t they? You haven’t committed a crime, you’re not on any social services,” I say, trying to fight my own rising fear.
“They can do whatever they want. It’s not guaranteed and it’s never taken this long for an approval. This is my third application in five years. I’d planned on leaving when this project was over. If I leave before they deport me, there’s a good chance I can come back in a few years.”
My heart skips a beat. “You planned to leave? Were you going to tell me that?”
“Of course I was. But, I haven’t thought about leaving since I met you.”
I walk over to her, not letting myself even think about the possibility she would have to leave. I’d do everything in my power to make sure it doesn’t come to that. I cup her cheek, tilt her face up to mine.
“We’ll face that if it comes to it, and I know you’re worried, but trust me, I wouldn’t let you be deported. I don’t throw my weight around, but I will if I need to. I’ll take care of you. You don’t have to do this by yourself anymore.”
30
Lucía
I close my eyes and savor those words. The promise in them buoys me.
“Thank you. I think if I lay low a little, it’ll be fine.”
Reece’s thumb had been stroking my cheek and at my words, he stops. His smile falters and his eyes close.
“Are you okay?” I look over my shoulder to see if he’s seen something.
He smiles again and grabs my hand, pulls me to standing. He lowers his face to mine and pulls me into a hug. He voice is gruff and his breath lifts my hair a little as he speaks.
“Yeah . . . no. I need to talk to you.” I’m still in the fog of desire his little tease created, but I hear his last sentence and I start to wake up.
“What’s wrong?” I ask wearily.
“Today in the restaurant, you said it made you happy to meet the people I introduced you to?”
I nod wearily. I have no clue where he’s going with this.
“I had an ulterior motive for taking you there today.”
I grimace and he continues.
“No, it’s nothing bad. I just wanted you to see that it could be okay to be out in public. I want you to help us sell this film. Our marketing team created a strategy, or at least the sketch of one, and you being available to talk about the book and the issues it raises are part of that strategy.”
My heart sinks. I feel cold suddenly and I rub my hands up and down my arms.
“Do you want me to stop talking?” Reece asks.
I whisper, “No, I’m just trying to grasp what you’re saying.” I understand perfectly, but I wish I didn’t.
“I’m saying that you need to come to terms with being in the spotlight. A few late nights, a morning show or two and a feature in an upscale magazine. As soon as you say okay, Sol’s going to get working on getting one of those lined up. You’re beautiful, they’re going to want to know who you are. I’ll be there with you. We can control the narrative, make it about the film, the book and not so much you.”
A feel a frown form on my face. “Are . . . you giving me media training?”
“No. But you’re going to need some, soon. You’re overdue for interviews for the book. We’ll do them together and I’ll talk about why we’re making film,” he says brusquely.
“What’s soon?”
“Three weeks. We’re flying to New York to do TODAY, Good Morning America and a spot on a CNN morning show. We’ll be back two days later and you’ll do one of the late night shows here a week or so after that.”
I’m afraid my eyes are going to pop out of my head. I don’t know how we got here. “Reece, my contract. It says no press.”
He nods, “Yeah, it does,” he says with a challenge in his voice. “But you can decide to do it anyway. Who knows your status besides your family, me and Jessica? You’ll be fine. You’re about to the be next hottest thing. Sol’s going to be very busy fielding offers for endorsements.”
I laugh nervously. “Reece, you’re getting ahead of yourself. I haven’t said I’d do it.”
He comes to stand in front of me and drops down to his haunches so we’re eye to eye.
“Luc, you’ve got to make a choice. You put that clause in there because you were afraid of being the center of attention. I get it, but you can’t be ruled by your fear.”
I consider him for a moment. I know that he’s right about my original motivation. But that fear is real and it’s not baseless. I want the movie to do well but I don’t want the focus to be on me.
“Okay, but we need to compromise. I have conditions. And I know you won’t like them, but you’re not in this alone.”
He smiles triumphantly and says, “Hit me with it.”
“Well, there’s only a couple, really. I don’t want to parade our relationship in front of the press. It will only make them curious about me and I don’t want that right now.”
He pulls his head back in surprise. “You want to hide?”
“We don’t have to hide, Reece, I just don’t want to point a neon sign at us. Don’t you understand?”
He closes his eyes for a second but says grudgingly, “I do. What else?”
“I’ll do the interviews, but by myself,” I say.
“Hell, no,” he says almost immediately. “You’ve never done this before and I’m not sending you out there by yourself.” He puts up a hand just as I start to protest. “We can come up with talking points ahead of time if you’d like. Our agents will let the shows know that we won’t talk about certain subjects. We can even ask for a list of potential questions. But you are not doing it by yourself.” His finger jabs the air to punctuate every word of that last sentence. I blink back my surprise at his vehemence. I make a quick decision.
“If it’s that important to you, we can do them together. We’ll just have to make sure they don’t turn into segments about us.”
He takes my hand.
“It’ll be fine. I promise. The studio will manage everything. We’ll need to talk to Sol about getting you set up with PR. You need someone good and discreet, who can craft a bio that’s satisfying without giving away too much. We’ll pick reporters we can trust and shows we’ve got relationships with. They’ll treat you like a princess.”
I can’t even comprehend the warp speed at which my life has changed. Ana Maria feels like distant memory. But I’m still tempted to look over my shoulder. I can’t let myself get too comfortable. As long as I’m out of status, getting comfortable isn’t a luxury I can afford.
I’m overwhelmed, but I don’t want to feed the feeling by worrying about this. I can’t let my fear rule me. I’ll just need to spend the next few weeks busy if I’m going to stay sane.
“I’ve got to get some writing done with Dan and Todd. I need to work longer hours the next few weeks to get everything done. I should probably get back there tonight, so I can get an early start tomorrow.”
Reece looks slightly disappointed, but I’m not sure why. I just agreed to do what he asked. Before I can ask, the look is gone and he’s smiling. “That’s a good idea,” he says, but I hear a hesitation in his voice.
“Are you sure?” I eye him.
“Yeah, of course. I’m just thinking,” he says as he starts to scan the park. I close the gap between us and take his strong, warm hands in mine. He looks down at our joined hand and then up at me.
“Are you sure you want to take on the mess of my life?” I ask him, earnestly. He doesn’t hesitate when he responds.
“Your mess is my mess. My mess is yours.”
“Okay.” I smile, take a deep breath of relief. “Julian used to say, ‘fear or faith’ all the time. I’m afraid. But I won’t let that stop me.”
He cups my face. “I see that fear baby, and I feel it too. But, I believe in us. We’re on the right side and we’re together.”
I nod at him, unable to look away from his mouth. I remember how soft it was when I kissed him in the restaurant. His hands flex, his fingers moving into my hair. I exhale as my scalp tingles at the touch of his fingers. He tilts my head a little and brings his mouth to my ear. “You’re so beautiful, and I’m desperate to kiss you,” he mutters, biting my earlobe before he sucks it into his mouth.
I groan, “Mmmm, well that’s perfect, because I’m desperate for you to kiss me,” I whisper back.
That’s all the invitation he needs. The tip of his tongue traces my lips, and he murmurs, “This mouth.” Before he brings his mouth to mine. My arms twine around his neck and I come up to the tips of my toes to try and close the distance between us. The kiss . . . it’s everything. It’s like a big gulp of fresh air. My lungs open. My heart expands. I’m hurtling through time, forward to my future. It’s full of promise and pleasure and I try to get even closer to him as feelings I’ve never experienced assault my senses. His hands come to palm my ass as he fuses our hips. I can feel him against my stomach, his hard thickness pressing into me. He deepens our kiss, our tongues sliding against each other. I moan into his mouth. When he pulls back, pressing soft kisses on my cheeks and neck, I let my hands delve into his hair. And suddenly he pulls back from the kiss. He presses his forehead to mine and takes several breaths before he speaks. “You’re going to be the death of me.” He chuckles. “We’re making out in the park like two teenagers and if we don’t stop I’m going to pull your dress up and fuck you right here.”
I pull back from him at that, my eyes wide. He laughs at my expression and puts an arm around me and steers us back toward his motorcycle.
“We’re meeting the guys in Venice and I need to go get my car. If we’re going to make it in time for dinner, we should get going.”
I loop my arm around his waist and we walk back to the bike, then start to strap on our helmets. Reece sits down and just as I start to climb on behind him, he stops me. “Thank you for coming here with me. Today has been one of the best days I can remember in a long time.”
I smile at him, knowing that my eyes are holding nothing back. “Ditto.”
31
Reece
“Reece. You’re embarrassing yourself, man.”
I glance at Dave and shrug. We’re at dinner at Ponte in Venice. The food and drinks are phenomenal and it’s a local eatery that’s casual and easy. Lucía and Jessica just got up to use the bathroom and I’m watching her walk away. Her hips have this great swing to them that gives her a bounce when she walks.
“You just wish it was you.” I go back to watching Lucía as they disappear down the dimly lit corridor where the restrooms are.
“Hell yeah, I do. She’s fucking hot,” Dave says.
“Yeah, and she’s a little young for you, old man.” He ribs me with his elbow. “How old is she, eighteen?” I slant a glance at him and grin.
“Hell yeah, she’s fucking hot. Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And she’s twenty-three.” And they all laugh out loud. I laugh too. I sound whipped. But that doesn’t bother me. Lucía could be fifty-three and she’d still be the woman I’m crazy about. Yeah, she’s young, but she’s got more emotional maturity than almost anyone I’ve ever met.
Lucía’s lit from within. She’s brave, brilliant and totally out of my league.
In LA, in the business, women like her are like myths. I want to be like Jay-Z and shout, “I got the hottest chick in the game wearing my chain.” Because she’s mine. She has been since she moved out to Malibu. God knows I’ve done my share of shit talking about them and their women, so I’ll take all the ribbing they want to dish, because I know I hit the fucking jackpot.
I look at Omar who is being unusually quiet. He’s been nursing one beer since we got there and has barely said a word. He also hasn’t taken his sunglasses off. In LA, that’s not unusual, but he’s wearing them to hide a black eye. He lost his mind and fucked his coach’s daughter. It’s been in the news, and it’s made his professional life a living hell. He got sucker punched by her brother a couple of days ago and he’s been laying low ever since.
“And you’re turning that book into a movie? Sort of different for your studio,” Dave says as he pops an olive into his mouth.
“Yes. So what?” I snap at him irritably.
“Easy, man. Just asking. Anyway, they’re coming back,” he says and then nods his head in the direction of the bathroom.
As they make their way through the restaurant, every single head turns to watch them.
Lucía’s wearing a long black sundress. It’s simple, but on her it looks like lingerie. She’s got her hair up in a messy bun that is just begging for me to take down.
“We’re back,” Jessica sings as they get back to the table. She’s a real party girl. You can tell she’s always up for fun and she’s been flirting outrageously with Dave all night and he’s been flirting back. But I know he’s not going to take it any further than that. He’s got a very serious girlfriend in New York and I think he’s planning on proposing to her soon.
Graham ambles back to the table, he left to take a call more than ten minutes ago.
“Sorry folks, I’ve got to love you and leave you. I’ve got a client who needs a FaceTime session to help talk her through a craving.”
I look at him and raise an eyebrow. “Since when do you do those?” I ask, knowing how covetous he is of his rare free time. He usually doesn’t take clients’ calls any later than three in the afternoon.
“Since this client started craving my cock, but is out of the country for work. FaceTime and my hand are going to help her get out tonight.”
Lucía chokes on her wine and Jessica laughs out loud.
“No one needed those details, man. You could have just said you had to go.”
“I did. You asked why. I answered.”
He turns to Lucía, his expression taking on a warm sincerity I rarely see from him. “It’s really nice to meet you. Good luck working with this guy, he’s a slave driver.” He takes her hand, places a kiss
on the back of it. She flutters her lashes and blushes back at him.
I roll my eyes. Graham and women.
“I’ll see you at the premier if I don’t see you before.” He gives both her and Jessica a peck on the cheek and then strolls out.”
We settle back and I look at my clock, it’s getting late. I know Lucía’s got an early start in the morning, but I’m driving back to Malibu with her tonight and I don’t plan on leaving until it’s time for work.
I’m just about to say something to that effect when Omar speaks.
His sunglasses are still on but it’s clear he’s looking at Lucía when he speaks. “I read your book,” he says it quietly, but loud enough that we can all hear a note of displeasure in his voice.
Lucía looks at him, a little warily. “Thanks . . . what did you think?” she asks a bit hesitantly.
“Well, I think it glorifies a bunch of law breaking people who have convinced themselves they have a right to be here.”
The mood at the table goes from jovial to hair trigger tense.
“Well, that’s rude.” This is from Jessica who has started to put a protective arm around her friend’s shoulder.
I look at Lucía and she looks relaxed, so I let myself relax, too. He’s entitled to his opinion. I know he has strong ones. We’ve argued about this issue for years.
Lucía moves slightly so she’s not under Jessica’s arm and says to her, “It’s not rude. I know that he and a lot of people feel that way. Tell me why you think it’s glorifying anything.”
Omar puts his beer down on the table and takes his sunglasses off. His right eye is red, and swollen with skin that ranges from dark purple, to mottled green all around the outer edge of it.
“Because everyone in that book is made out to be some sort of hero. All of them are criminals.” This is a tone I’ve never heard him use before.