His Firm Direction

by Alexis Alvarez

  Axel nodded. “That’s how I used to feel skiing. Using my entire body, and my mind too, planning for moguls, turns, handling icy patches and soft snow. Knowing that I was giving every damn last thing I had to that race. It was humbling, in a way. Like a prayer, sometimes.”

  “Are you religious?” She was surprised at this.

  “Not so much,” he said. “But don’t you think using everything your body has to offer, isn’t it kind of like a prayer?”

  Cleo considered this. “I suppose it is,” she agreed. “Maybe a blessing, or a statement of gratitude. Thanks, Life, for giving me this amazing body. Watch me use it up. A physical prayer, written out in space and time.”

  He nodded. “I’m more Buddhist than anything these days. I try to take time out to celebrate the beauty of life, when I can.”

  “It’s a good philosophy,” Cleo said. His shirt was damp with sweat, even with the wicking fabric, and his neck looked appealing. She wanted to lick down his skin; taste his salt and body. What if she did? What if she leaned in and put her mouth to him? It would be so inappropriate, yet so right. And after all, didn’t part of her want him to call in his bet, take her into his arms, claim what he’d earned?

  He didn’t answer, and when she checked his face, he was gazing at her, serious, then he gave her a small smile. “So what now, Cleo?” He slapped both hands onto his thighs, and she followed his movements.

  She bit her lip. “About…”

  “What would your character say now?” He crossed his arms and spread his legs on his rock.

  Uncertain, she darted a glance over at him. Was he just asking her to get into the role, or did he want—? God, those abs and shoulders through his shirt. What would they feel like under her fingers? “I think…” But she didn’t finish.

  No help from him. He sat there watching her, intent. Flustered, she put up her hands. “I don’t know.” She wanted to turn the tables somehow, get herself on an even footing. “Why don’t you review the options for me,” she added, making her voice low and sultry. “Let me see what I’ve got to choose from.”

  He laughed and touched her knee, a brief flash of arousal from the tip of his index finger. “As I recall, you made a promise to me back there at the other stop. Do you happen to remember what it was?” His voice was low and firm.

  “Hmmm… I was in such a hurry to run, I must have forgotten,” she said, making her eyes wide. “Maybe something about buying you coffee?”

  “Not. Even. Close,” he said, spacing the words out, but still in a conversational tone. “It had more to do with you…” and he leaned in to whisper into her ear, “submitting to me right here, right now. Letting me undress you and punish you and bring you to ecstasy, at my whim. Does this sound familiar?” His lips lingered at her ear, and his breath and the touch of his lips made her shiver with desire.

  “But…” he continued, lightly stroking one arm with his fingertips, “I don’t know if you meant it, or if you were teasing. So.” He pulled back. “I’m going to ask you right now to choose what you want.” He leaned back, comfortable, and smiled at her. “If you want what you promised, you’re going to need to ask me for it.”

  “To ask you?” She stood up and took a step backwards. “In the play, doesn’t Aaron just do what he wants to Anna?”

  He looked up at her and shook his head. “Nope.” His grin was appealing. “Absolutely not. It’s gotta be something both people want one hundred percent.”

  “But I thought the dominant just did what he wanted to the submissive one,” she argued.

  “That’s not how it works at all,” he chided, leaning back on his elbows, looking altogether too comfortable for the conversation. “It’s a mutual decision, each and every time. If it looks like someone is just choosing, it’s only because the two people have had a long and detailed discussion in their past, and they’re both intimately familiar with what’s being offered and given. They can do the dance without words. But the first time, yes, you’re going to have to tell me what you want.”

  She flushed. “But that’s—wouldn’t that be sort of embarrassing, for me? I mean, for the person, the woman in the situation?”

  He laughed. “It can be, if you like it that way.” He raised one eyebrow.

  “What I like…” she began.

  But whatever she wanted to say was cut off by the approach of another jogger, then another. Any hopes of further privacy were dashed when a third person joined the duo and they began stretching and chatting, nodding hello to Cleo and Axel. Someone’s phone rang, a flurry of wind chimes and sonorous notes.

  “Saved by the bell,” he said, standing up and offering his hand. “Head back together?”

  She took his hand even though she was standing, too, not sure why he was offering it, but wanting any chance to touch him. He squeezed her palm, then let go. “You’re getting the hang of this faster than I expected,” he said, a questioning look on his face.

  She didn’t answer, but followed his long strides out of the clearing and back down the path.

  What were you supposed to say to someone with whom you’d acted and/or flirted heavily about something you didn’t even know you wanted, and that person was not only your boss but also one of the hottest men and best directors in the country? Apparently, normal things, because Axel asked, “So, what do you do besides running, in your spare time?”

  And it was easy to answer, “Well, I read a lot. And I volunteer at the free clinic where my best friend works. Laska,” she added, giving him a sidelong glance, “You know, Laska from the crew? She’s a doctor in real life. She just does stage set stuff for fun, on the side.”

  “I didn’t know that she was a doctor,” Axel said, a note of surprise in his voice. “To be honest, most of my stagehands are in the arts, somehow. Usually more of the starving variety.” He added, “She’s good—her painting on the backdrop is some of the best I’ve encountered in the past few years.”

  “Yes, she’s amazing,” enthused Cleo. “A lot of people think she’s wasting her time, but for her it’s relaxing and fun, you know?”

  “Everyone needs an outlet,” he said, somewhat cryptically.

  “What’s yours?” she asked. Not sure she should, she teased, “Do you spank women every night to relax or something?” and laughed. “Like the character in the play?”

  When it took him too long to answer, her eyes widened. “Axel! Oh, my God. Do you?” Something about the idea of him and another woman made her feel icky inside.

  “Are you sure you want to talk about this?” He gave her an unreadable look.

  She shrugged, both apologetic and defensive. “I’m sorry if it’s too intrusive, but given the nature of our conversation, it didn’t seem that far out of range.”

  “It’s a pretty personal topic,” he said. “You okay with that?” He stopped and pierced her with his gaze.

  She licked her lip. “Yeah. I mean, all of this is going to help me learn about my role, that’s all.”

  “Oh, really?” His voice was amused and something else, something she couldn’t pinpoint. “If you’re fine with blurring the boundaries a bit, then sure, we can talk about this.”

  “So answer my question, then,” she challenged, her breath coming in shallow. She felt dizzy with the topic and his proximity. It was unreal, walking here in the woods, talking about kinky sex with her director. And she wouldn’t be anywhere else at this moment, not for a fucking million dollars. Surely he must sense her interest… she could act on stage, but in real life her emotions always showed on her face, in her body language. And he didn’t seem to mind.

  “No,” he said finally. “I don’t spank women to relax… not exactly.”

  “Define not exactly.” She stepped on a branch and enjoyed the sharp crack of the brittle wood.

  “I don’t use women as tools to relieve my stress,” he said slowly, “so in that sense, it’s not my relaxation drug of choice. However, I do enjoy and prefer kinky relationships, Cleo. It’s part of the w
ay I am. So I suppose in that way, taking my personality as a whole, it is part of my typical routine.” He stepped on a branch, mimicking her previous action, but it felt good, like a bond, not a mockery.

  “So, yes but no?” She wrinkled her brow.

  “It’s not about just me. Yeah, I’m the dominant when I play, but my partner’s needs and wants are just as important as my own. We have different roles, but we need to be equally happy with how things play out. If I like to spank, she has to like getting spanked. I can’t, I won’t do it to an unwilling person, not even one time in our relationship, because then it stops being about sex and dominance and turns into something ugly and broken.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you?” He stopped, so she did too, and he looked her full in the face. “It can be very relaxing, rejuvenating, Cleo, to indulge in some kinky fun with a like-minded partner. But it has to be meaningful and positive for both people. That’s what I want to make clear. In my play, as well as real life.”

  “But in your play, they never really talk about their relationship. So that’s why it seemed so one-sided to me, that he had all the power.” And that was the thing that had her all mixed up, she thought.

  “Yes, because we jump into the action at a point where they’re already an established couple; that talking would have happened in the past. And I’ll admit that writing it this way, landing in the middle of the story, makes it far more provocative for the audience, more controversial and exciting. Guarantees more press. Not that I’ll admit that in an interview,” he laughed. “Real life, though, we don’t jump into the middle of our story. We start at the first page, yes? First lines? And write them ourselves.”

  She nodded. “Writing it yourself. Good advice for any relationship, kinky or not. Keep your heart safe.”

  He made a sound. “Don’t involve it at all, is a better bet.” He walked faster, then started a slow lope, and she jogged to keep up.

  “Did someone break your heart?” she blurted out, even though she knew it was too personal to ask. “Is that why you said the thing about thinking it’s forever, and finding out it’s not?” She hesitated. “The other day, remember, in your office? You said—”

  “It would be foolish,” he cut in, “to assume that forever has any meaning, or that people can even promise it to one another. It’s beyond our capabilities. If I’ve learned that the hard way, then it’s only my own fault for being gullible.” His voice was hard.

  “But, Axel! You can’t really believe that. Don’t you believe in soulmates?”

  He barked out a short laugh. “Please. People choose their partners based on pheromones and proximity. Soulmates? That’s the idle dream of romantic poets.”

  “Okay, okay, so soulmates is cheesy. Fine, I can allow that. But, I mean, how about finding a sorta soulmate. Maybe not the one magical person who fits you like a missing puzzle piece, but one who, you know, comes pretty close.”

  “No.”

  “So you don’t believe in love at all?” Her voice rose, but she was honestly curious. Who knew he had such a dark blotch in his heart?

  “Of course I believe that love exists,” he said, as if thinking the words out loud for the very first time. “A parent for their child. People for friends, or a partner. It’s just that romantic love is too idealized in our society, given too much prominence and importance. And then people don’t bother to take this so-called lover seriously. When they run into trouble, they’re more likely to turn and run than stay and work things out.”

  “Well, but—”

  He stopped jogging and interrupted. “Look at the divorce rate. Look at the people who don’t commit to anyone. I just think that love is a handy catchphrase that too often means ‘you’re good enough for now’ and nothing more. People promise their undying love when they should really be saying, ‘You’re all right for now, until something better comes along.’ Be honest about it, you know?”

  Breathing hard, she stood next to him and tilted her head. “I can’t say I totally disagree with you, about the part where you mentioned failing marriages and people not trying hard enough. But I think that deep down, everyone wants romantic love. Maybe they just don’t know how to go about getting it.”

  “People focus far too much on the exterior symbols that suggest love,” he said. “Rings, the bigger the better. An engagement announcement. But if there’s nothing solid underneath it, the whole endeavor crumbles. And there’s rarely anything solid. That’s all I’m saying. It’s mostly a sham.”

  “Well, I guess I don’t agree with that,” she said, her voice flat. “I think for most people it’s not a sham. Maybe they don’t do it well, maybe they fuck it up beyond repair, over and again, but it’s not—fake.”

  “We’ll have to agree to disagree.” His voice was neutral.

  “So, I mean, are you dating anyone right now?” Her voice sped up at the end. For some reason, the idea of him being with someone special was like a knife to the gut. Please, she begged mentally, not even sure for what she was pleading.

  “I don’t date.” His voice was firm.

  Relief and confusion flooded her. “What do you mean, you don’t date?”

  “Just what I said. I’m not interesting in finding a life partner at the moment.” He made the words ‘life partner’ come out in a sarcastic tone. “So I have colleagues. And I have friends. And then I also have play partners, Cleo. Okay? I find like-minded women, for a short time or a longer one, who want to share my life and my bed, with no strings attached. And they’re kinky women, which brings us back to your original question.”

  “Booty calls,” she said, nodding. “I get it.” Her heart flopped and jerked in her chest. Did that mean he was available, or not available? Did that even apply to her? Probably no. He was doing a mixture of flirting and honest connection, roleplaying and intimacy, to inspire to her to get into her role. It didn’t mean he liked her.

  “Well, a little more complicated than your basic booty call,” he said, giving her a smirk. “But we both know upfront that it’s not going to end in a declaration of love. It’s better that way. Honest. We both get what we want, and nobody gets hurt.”

  He shook his head. “But when it comes to the play, like I said before, I think you have what it takes to make this thing fucking shine. I’m glad you’re part of it, and that you’re interested in finding the fundamental motivations of the characters. That’s the Cleo I heard about, the one who does anything and everything to perfect her acting. And if listening to me talk about my relationships helps, then—any time.” He held out his hands and gave her a quizzical look, as if offering her something.

  She nodded, suddenly sobered. “Yes, I always want to do my best.”

  He started running ahead, and Cleo, taken aback at the way the conversation had gone from flirtatious to serious in a matter of minutes, could only follow.

  Chapter Four

  “Much better!” Axel’s voice filled the stage, and Cleo’s heart flooded with joy. Unable to hide her pride, she grinned and poked Martin.

  “You see? Pure perfection,” she said, sitting up next to him on the couch. “Try not to get burned by my brilliance.” She held up one finger and touched her thigh. “Tssss!”

  “Your performance wasn’t that stellar, Ms. Martinelli,” said Axel. “I said better, not good.” But his smile let her know that he was proud of her, excited even, at the progress.

  “Whatever.” She rolled her eyes, because the tone in his voice was generous, expansive, full of humor. So different from the last practice, when she’d been spitting sparks and he was filled with icy irritation.

  The whole cast, in fact, seemed more relaxed today. Instead of sitting in silent clusters, they were chattering, laughing. Backstage, the vibe was easy and loose, with Laska directing some college student volunteers, and the electrician whistling something by Taylor Swift while applying tape to some wires.

  “Team, gather round,” ordered Axel, and the cast drew near, a ragged circle on an
d below the stage. “This is the kind of energy I’m looking for,” he announced, pointing at Cleo and Martin. “Did you see that? Their chemistry today? It was magnetic. You all can see the difference from last time. Today, Ms. Martinelli got into her role, and it was inspirational. I expect that level of determination and dedication from each of you. I want to hear you live the character’s life.

  “When you talk, I want to feel your backstory in your words, see the character’s motivation in your face, and read her future in your eyes. Got it? Every character in this play believes the entire play is about them, because it is about them. You make us feel it, that each one of you is integral, the only one we should be listening to.”

  Nods, smiles, varying levels of enthusiasm. Cleo’s joy faded when she noticed Chelsea step into Axel’s body space, inches too far in, a distance that she herself felt in the small of her back like an unwelcome interruption, the way she felt when a car pulled in too closely behind her—as if there were a visceral touch on her own body. Uck.

  “Would like… since you’re giving her personal lessons… could benefit… to be fair…” was all she could catch, over Martin’s enthusiastic recollection of a movie he’d seen.

  “Uh huh?” she said to Martin, then focused to catch Chelsea and Axel’s conversation.

  “So if you have… how about tonight?” Chelsea smiled, and a spark of sick jealousy thrummed in Cleo’s stomach. This was ridiculous, because first of all, it wasn’t like Axel was ‘hers,’ either in a personal way, or even in a work way. As the director, of course he needed to encourage, motivate, and train his entire crew. It only made sense! As the understudy, and as an actor who would do at least several live performances herself, of course Chelsea needed the same kind of guidance and training that Cleo did. Maybe Chelsea needed more, even.