I wriggle away from her contact, but she grabs my hand instead and leads me to the pool.
“I’m hot,” she says, and pulls her slinky dress over her head. She isn’t wearing anything underneath. I glance awkwardly at her body. It’s perfect. Her legs are smooth and long, her golden arms hang cool beside her hips. Her breasts are perfect and not surgically enhanced like so many actresses here, but curve upwards like full but perky teardrops, the nipples pert and small. She catches me watching her and smiles seductively, the dimple on one cheek reminds me eerily of Max when he looks at me that way. It’s uncanny. She’s like a female version of him. He may be Alpha male, but she’s an Alpha female, all woman. Tough but whimsical, strong but softly feminine. Her eyes are also green like his but more feline. The similarities between them are frightening.
“Come in, the water’s perfect,” she entreats after she has accomplished a perfect swallow dive. Her hair is now sleek on her head and her eyes dark from run mascara – it makes her the epitome of a Hollywood ‘femme fatale’.
I take off my sandals and dip my toes in the water. It really is warm and I’m tempted.
“Come on, don’t be shy. Nobody’s allowed in this pool with a swimsuit – only skinny-dipping here at all times. Come in, Arielle.”
I slip my dress over my shoulders and stand there in my bra and panties. A matching, pale pink lace set from La Perla that Max surprised me with the other day. I suddenly feel awkward and embarrassed – I don’t know this woman! “You know what? I think I’ll just dangle my feet in and wait until Max gets back.”
Her eyes narrow. “I won’t bite, you know,” and then she dives down and does a handstand, her elegant toes as pointed as a ballerina. She emerges from the water and looks like a Bond girl, all sex, heat, and temptress. As if she were designed by God to do nothing but seduce. I turn my eyes away and reach for my dress and struggle back into it – I should never have taken it off in the first place.
“Come, I’m going to make you the best Bloody Mary you’ve ever tasted,” she tells me, water dripping off her tanned body as she grabs a towel.
I follow her to the kitchen, which is country-style with a large pine table in the middle and baskets of dried flowers hanging from rafters and wooden beams. She takes a jug out of the refrigerator and pours the mixture into two tall glasses, garnishing them with sticks of celery and lemon slices. She hands me a glass. “Here, try this, it has a kick to it, a touch of horseradish. And help yourself to my spread of cold meats and Italian bruschetta. The basil’s fresh from the garden and the tomatoes are from my greenhouse. Oh, and the olive oil I brought from Mallorca where my grandparents live. It has a nutty taste – quite delicious. Actually, let’s take it all outside on the porch.”
We put everything on a tray and take it outside where there’s a wrought iron table and chairs. I delve into the bruschetta and can taste the sun in the tomatoes. It’s true, the olive oil is sublime.
“So Arielle, Billy says we need to get to work on the script straight away.”
“We?”
“You didn’t think you’d be doing it all alone, did you? No, no, my darling, this needs to be teamwork. I want the script to feel natural to me. You know, be part of who I am.”
But you’re an actress, ACT! “Oh, Billy made out that I’d be working with just the script writer, he never mentioned that you wanted to be involved,” I say as politely as I can.
“Nuh, uh, I want to put in my two cents worth – I want to have my say.”
“With all due respect, Valentina, that wasn’t part of the deal – it wasn’t written into your contract.”
She pouts her lips like a child. “But Billy wants me to be happy. Don’t you?”
I take a sip of my Bloody Mary and then reply, “Well of course I do. I think an actor’s input is very important, but you know, too many cooks can spoil the broth.”
“I just need a week with you. Just so you get to know me. I thought we could do a little improvisation, you know, have some fun.”
“But we’re only here for three days, and then we have to get back to New York.”
“Who has to get back to New York?” It’s Max. He comes up behind me and massages my shoulders. His touch is warm. I feel a wave of relief wash over me.
“Hi English,” she says. “Hope you had fun with my car. Just trying to persuade your other half to stay on a few days. You know, we need to work on the script together before the others get hold of it. I want it to be our baby.”
Max laughs. I can see her flirtatiousness toward me is amusing him for some reason. Even calling him English. I feel as if I’m being fed to the wolves when he says to me, “Stay, darling. Enjoy this beautiful LA weather – relax a little. I can’t as I’ve got a meeting in Montreal, but there’s no reason why you shouldn’t.”
“No way,” I state assertively. “I have to get back to Manhattan. Cecile and I are working on something very important. She needs me in the editing room.”
“Nonsense. That was your old job, remember? You’re on features now, not documentaries. Cecile can take care of it all herself,”
Whose side are you on? But all I say is, “I’ll call Billy later and discuss it with him.”
Just then a black cat shimmies its way around my bare legs. Its soft fur seductive, its purr intense.
“That’s Lucifer,” Valentina tells me. “He’s an Oriental. Isn’t he the most handsome thing you’ve ever set your eyes on?”
The cat continues to purr and rub itself against me. Why do I have this ominous feeling that between Lucifer and Valentina, I don’t stand a chance?
ON THE WAY BACK TO the hotel, Billy calls and confirms my worries. He wants Valentina to ‘assist’ me with script changes. He tells me that the buzz is out, and he wants this film to not only be a blockbuster but ‘a classy blockbuster’ – to have a chance to be nominated for an Academy Award. He feels that Valentina is going to put it into a higher category because she’s a ‘real actress’ and that we need to respect her wishes. He persuades me that I need to stay on a few more days, work with her before handing our changes over to the main script doctor. It all feels odd, but as I am a virgin to the world of movie producing, I have to take his word for it.
Max and I are sitting on the balcony of our luxurious room that overlooks the ocean. We’re listening to the rhythmical sound of the surf and enjoying the feeling of being on vacation. I’m using this opportunity to discuss Billy and Valentina with him and the rather bizarre situation.
Max kisses my hand and says, “You make it sound as if it’s some sort of punishment, Arielle – don’t be so worried. How bad can it be to hang out in the sunshine with a beautiful actress while you fiddle about with the script?”
I sigh and fix my eyes on some surfers in the distance, waiting to catch the next big wave. “She’s just so persuasive, so...so...”
A mischievous smile spreads across his gorgeous face. “You’re worried she’s going to try and seduce you.”
I look into his sparkling, amused eyes. “Yes.”
“Ooh, how dangerous,” he teases.
“You’re laughing about it now, but what happens if she succeeds?”
“Sexy.” He grins. “You can sex Skype me – the pair of you. I can’t think of anything that would turn me on more. Two beautiful women getting it on together – two sexy female bodies entwined. Feel my cock,” he says, taking my hand and putting it on his crotch, “I’m hard just thinking about you two together.”
I rub his huge stiff erection through his jeans, but I take my hand away and say, “Seriously, Max, she means business, I can tell.”
“Have some fun and come straight back home. I’m not worried, Arielle – not in the least.”
“What, even if something were to actually happen? If she kissed me or...or...something more?”
He laughs then presses his lips lightly on my temple.
“You’re acting like this whole thing is a joke,” I blurt out, a touch annoyed. “You might
get jealous if something really did take place.”
“Baby, she’s a woman. How could I feel threatened by a woman?”
“What if a guy was coming on to me like this?”
Max’s smile fades and a flash of irritation dances in his green eyes. “That would be a whole different story. I wouldn’t be allowing you to stay on in LA if some good-looking movie actor was demanding to co-write with you, I can tell you.”
“But this is my job, you can’t dictate to me who I work with!”
“I’m your fiancé. Didn’t anyone ever warn you that Englishmen have a hidden possessive streak?”
I think of Emma’s wise advice: He’s a man. “So you speak for the whole of England?” I ask with a laugh. “Or is it just a small minority of you who suffer from jealousy?”
“Not jealous, just claiming what belongs to me, that’s all.”
“Yet a woman couldn’t possibly pose a threat? A woman isn’t as powerful as a man, is that what you’re saying?”
“Now you’re twisting things. A woman doesn’t have a penis.”
I roll my eyes. “Ah, so it boils down to that, does it? The testosterone factor!”
“Maybe.”
“So how would you feel about any of my past instances with men? How would you feel if you knew I’d been... promiscuous once upon a time?”
“Well, I happen to know that you weren’t. You told me you were a virgin before me.” He narrows his eyes, and my stomach dips.
“But let’s just say, for argument’s sake, that I had been running around, but it was—”
His cell rings and our conversation’s over. It’s his sister. Of course. As if she can hear what we’re saying. Sometimes I wonder if she isn’t sneaking recording bugs into the room to spy on us, or tapping his phone. Max ends the call, and now I feel compelled to speak out. This time, about Jenny.
“Max – before we became engaged, you told me that you’d be opting out of Finders Keepers, that you and Jenny would go your separate ways.”
“That’s my plan. But all in good time, darling, all in good time. That’s what Finders Keepers Enterprises is about – you and me. The two of us veering off in a new direction without Jenny.”
I knit my brows. “When will ‘good time’ be?”
“As soon as the moment is right.”
Getting nowhere with this, I return to Conversation One. “So to be completely clear, if something happened between me and Valentina, hypothetically speaking, because I have no intention of letting her have her way, but if it did, you wouldn’t consider that I was being unfaithful to you, or cheating on you in some way?”
“No, not all at.”
“Just double-checking,” I say.
LATER, MAX GOES SURFING. He’s dressed in a black rubber, short-sleeved suit; his pecs defined and the bulge of his biceps accentuated by the outfit. I sit on the beach, a cardigan wrapped around me, with my headphones on, listening to the perfect soundtrack by the Beach Boys, Surfin’ USA as I watch my fiancé take each wave, moving his body in elegant swivels and jumps, flowing with the surf, bending and straightening his body at each perfect moment. He makes it look effortless, gliding with precision under each barreling wave, never flinching, never falling. He surfs as well as my father and that’s really saying something. My stomach flips at his prowess – there’s nothing like watching a man excel at sport.
I feel warm inside. I love this man more than ever.
7
IT WAS PRESSED UP AGAINST my face – I was gasping for air.
The boys’ repeated use of the word ‘cunt’ was drumming in my ears. I hated that word – it was vulgar, demeaning to women – it made me feel cheap. I opened my eyes and saw the guy’s long, skinny penis and his hand fumble again on my face. I could almost smell his hyped-up hormones – the whole scenario was grossly wrong – disconnected from the person I was inside. How did I get to this point? What happened? I felt sick at myself. I had only kissed and fooled around with Brad up until now. What had I been thinking getting myself into this mess?
Needle-dick pressed his thin, lanky erection on my mouth once more and shouted, “Suck my goddam dick, goddam it!”
I tried to maneuver myself up against the pillows, but my head was spinning fast. The other guy was on top of me, and I could hardly breathe with his weight.
“Guys,” I yelled out, “I don’t want to do this. It was a bad idea. I’m drunk – I had too much tequila.” I pushed my arms out at the blonde one’s chest to get him off me, but I couldn’t even see past the other guy who was prizing open my lips with his clammy, smelly fingers trying to stuff his needle-like erection into my mouth. I gagged with repulsion.
“I’m going to be sick,” I moaned, flailing my arms about and then tried to lever myself off the futon. “Please you two, I want to go home now...please somebody drive me home...I don’t want to do this.” My words were slurring, but they understood. “Guys, I apologize for leading you on, but I don’t want to do this anymore. I made a big mistake, I just wanna go back to my dorm.”
“Fuck you, bitch, suck my fucking dick!” He was pumping his hips into my face now, his hand grabbing my long hair like rope, as his hot, sweaty balls were squashing against my closed lips.
“Get off!” I screamed, shaking my head and protecting my face with my hands. “Get the fuck off me, don’t you get it, the party’s OVER!”
“Get the fuck off her dude,” the blonde one said pushing Needle-dick away from me.
Thank God, I thought, and I took a desperate lungful of air, so relieved his crotch was out of my face. But the blonde one then said, “I’ll fuck her first and then you can have her after me.”
“Fuck you, asshole, she was gonna suck me off!”
“She’s wasted, dude, can’t you see that? The slut’s off her fuckin’ face. It’s really taking effect now. Let me have her first.”
I started to scream and thrash about, but the blonde one held my wrists together in a tight vice and the other one muffled my mouth with his stinky palm. The blond was powerful, his football-trained muscles rippling beneath his chest. As I tried to sit up in one great burst of effort, my head started to spin and I saw stars trail about the room in waves. He crashed back on top of me and forced my legs open with his knees. I tried to free my hands to scratch him, but I was still immovable. He started pumping into me, his elbow still holding down my arms. My legs were kicking in the air but my attempt to get him off me was pathetically weak. This guy was super-strong. The more I shouted and thrashed the more turned on he got.
“That’s right, fuck that horny little slut, dude – you know she wants it,” Needle-dick chanted, getting a vicarious thrill out of watching his friend pound me while he simultaneously played with himself.
The blond’s breath was hoarse with whiskey as he panted his way to a fast orgasm. Oh my God, I realized – he wasn’t even wearing a condom. He pulled out immediately and rolled off me. I lurched up to stand but the other one grabbed my ankles in a rugby tackle, and I went flying face-down on the futon, my head slapping hard against the pillows.
“Don’t think you can run off, you cock-teasing slut! I haven’t even started yet.” He rolled me over and smashed on top of me, lustily pinning me down. He too was brawny, my inebriated body, now feeling almost numb, was no match for his big, clumping frame. I clasped my legs tightly together so he couldn’t enter me, but he wrenched my thighs open and poked his weapon inside. I bashed his back with my fists but it was like pummeling a brick wall. Grunting, he thumped himself further inside my vulnerable spot forcing my legs further open. I screamed but nobody seemed to hear. Where was everyone? By this point, I blanked out. I held my head to the side and closed my lips tight. Of all the horrors, being kissed seemed the most disgusting of all. If I could at least keep my mouth untainted, I’d be winning on some level. I felt repulsed at myself, horrified that I got my sorry ass into this mess, but all I could concentrate on was survival and somehow getting out of there. I eyed my clothing strew
n about the floor and planned my getaway. The second he was done, I’d grab my stuff and charge out the door. My shoes I’d leave, I’d need to be barefoot to move fast.
But then I heard another voice; a new guy barging into the room. My heart leaped into my stomach with both hope and dread. Would he save me? Or were things about to get much worse?
My lungs are heaving, my chest tight – I feel suffocated. I open my eyes and hear the reassuring sound of the surf and feel a cool morning breeze wafting through the window. The sheets are crumpled in a mess. I’ve been kicking, tossing and turning. I hear the shower next door – thank God, Max is in the bathroom – he hasn’t been witness to yet another of my nightmares.
I get out of bed, holding my stomach. I feel nauseous and think I may throw up. I sit on one of the comfy chairs on our balcony and breathe in the fresh, salty air. I already feel better. All of my past is surging back – the buried memories, which I thought had been blanked out of my life. No wonder men grossed me out for so many years. Holy shit! No wonder my mind played tricks on me and wanted me to forget all this. Down to believing I was still a virgin when I met Max.
I wish.
Max finds me on the balcony. He’s dripping wet, with a towel tied around his middle of his toned abs. I look at him, taking in his physical beauty and wonder if he would have once been capable of doing what those boys did. Are all men pigs at heart? Is it just a question of circumstance? Perhaps those guys are all happily married now with sweet, adoring children who look up to them and think that they’re the best dads in the world. Wives who would never believe you if you enlightened them to what their husbands had once done in their college years. Or maybe they’re still out there raping women, pretending to themselves “she asked for it.”
Nobody would blame them. Guys are guys. Girls should know better, shouldn’t they? Women should be smarter, not put themselves in precarious situations, not “ask for it.” Not behave like “sluts.”
My Dark Knight Page 8