“I already had my cheat night with Laska,” she said, and reached over to slap his ass. “Hey, this is fun. I see why you like doing it so much.”
He gave her a grin, so she slapped him again, and then, after a pause, harder. The sound cracked through the room. “Did that hurt?” she asked, curious, and rubbed the spot where she’d slapped. His ass cheeks were firm and muscular, his skin smooth and warm.
“Not much.” He smiled. “Weakling. You have poor technique.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, do I? Well, maybe that’s because I don’t do this all the time.” She giggled and spanked harder.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her in for a kiss. “That is surprisingly fucking hot, Cleo.”
“What can I say. I’m just like lava,” she agreed, and relaxed into his embrace. They’d had a phenomenal orgasm just a few minutes earlier, both of them, and she was still flying high with the residual bliss. A moment later, she asked, curious, “Hey, have you ever seen real lava? Like, in person?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I have. Hawaii, the Big Island.”
She sat up. “Seriously? That’s so cool. I want to do that someday. So did you stand at the top of a crater and look down into a seething pit of molten rock?” She imagined how it might look, then snuggled back into his embrace.
“No.” He laughed. “Nobody is allowed near the caldera. Way too dangerous. You can see lava oozing into the ocean if you do a helicopter or boat ride when the conditions are right. Or you can do a hike to get to open lava fields.”
“Does it pour out all fast?”
“It’s glacial.”
“That’s so weird, that you’d use a word describing an iceberg to explain hot melted rock.”
He shrugged. “It’s so slow it seems motionless. When I went, we had to do a ten-mile hike through jungle and mud to get to the lava field. The park service only has one main access route, and if lava isn’t flowing there, you have to sign up for a private tour on privately owned land that happens to be adjacent to the volcano and gets lava flow.”
“I didn’t know that. That’s crazy!”
He nodded. “When we finally got through the jungle, it was miles and miles of black, jagged rock. You could snap an ankle like this.” He snapped his fingers, and she flinched. “You fall and put your hand down wrong, you could pierce your palm right through. It stank of fumes and the ground was hot. Like walking on top of a furnace. I could feel it through my hiking boots. The air close to the lava flow, it’s like walking into a bonfire. You can’t get too close or your face hurts. Literally.”
“Wow.” She tried to envision that. “That doesn’t really sound safe.” She stroked along his hip.
“It isn’t.” He frowned. “But it’s also exhilarating. If you walk far enough into the lava field, you get the point where fresh lava is flowing. It’s like a thick red snake with black ash, undulating in slow motion. It looks like taffy being made, stretched on a roller. Like melted mozzarella, but a huge thick strand of it, and it’s red hot. A fat, thick worm. A tree trunk of ooze. You can see the heat waves. You sweat. You get dizzy.”
“So you can walk right up to a piece of lava, though?”
“Yeah, there were fingers of it all over, oozing and creating new paths for flow. Incredible.”
“But dangerous.”
“Yeah,” he mused. “You could die. People have, if they walk onto areas where rangers have closed it off. The cooled lava gets thin and brittle, and if it’s over a pit or close to the open ocean, the whole thing can collapse.” He put a hand on her waist, then stroked up to her breast and cupped it.
She shuddered. “God.” She pushed her leg into his again, and smiled when he pushed back.
“But being that close to lava, it’s a rush,” he said. “Miraculous. You’re looking at something that’s a million years old, melted rock from the inside of the earth. Something that’s never seen the light in eons, and now it’s out for the first time. It’s old and new at once. Pretty fucking awesome.”
“Old and new at once,” she said. “Kind of like love.”
“Love?” He twisted to look at her face, and frowned. “How’s that?”
She bit her lip. “It’s as old as time, right? As long as people have existed, they’ve felt a special bond for each other. At least, for some of the others. But each time, it’s brand new. For each couple, it’s fresh and exciting, even though love itself, humans feeling it, is also eons in the making. I don’t know.” She paused. “Maybe it’s not the same.”
“Well, at least lava exists,” he said, with a short chuckle.
“Even you agreed love exists, too, at least in some forms,” she pointed out.
“True.” He nodded. “So I did. And my inability to engage with the rest of the world still doesn’t prevent me from enjoying life fully.” He pulled her to him. “Like hiking to see the wonders of the Earth. And enjoying you, right here, right now.”
He ran a hand down her waist and cupped her mound. “Especially here.” He touched softly and she moaned, spreading her thighs to allow him access. “You want this, Cleo?” he murmured.
“Mmm, yes,” she replied, and they were done talking for the night, all thoughts of pizza and lava falling to the wayside as their bodies came together in bliss.
* * *
She sat on the edge of the stage, kicking lightly with her heels at the wooden base, looking out into the expanse of red velvet chairs. Red and black, scratched here and there, some wear, neat arrays that could make you dizzy if you scanned fast—it was as familiar and imperfect as the back of her hand.
“What are you thinking about?” Axel came up behind her.
“That I like it when this place is empty,” she said, winding one arm around his calf and hugging. “Quiet. I can hear myself think. Appreciate the space and the silence. Think about how it will look when it’s filled with life again.”
“Mmm.” He reached down and touched the top of her head. “Empty except for the two of us.”
She nodded, liking the feel of his palm on her skull; it was warm, protective. “And our past and our future, I think. Doesn’t seeing all those expectant chairs, facing us right now, doesn’t it make you feel the need to do something important? Make you think about your life?”
“For me?” He paused. “For me, it makes me proud that this is my right, to be back here when the rest of the world is absent. It’s my territory, my realm.”
She laughed. “Ego.”
“No.” He was serious. “Well, I suppose, but not in a bad way. I’m proud. I have pride that I earned the right to be here. I guess those chairs are looking at me with a challenge. What are you going to do to impress us next? And I know I can bring it.”
They were silent for a second, then he pulled away from her grasp and sat beside her, slinging one arm over her shoulder. “I know you can bring it. You’re doing a great job, you and Martin and everyone.”
She nodded. “We are.” She pointed. “I like it when the actors sit around and try out chairs during rehearsal. I think it gives us confidence, like you said, that we own this space. It’s our place. That one chair in the second row? The seat is a little squeaky when it expands. And someone scratched their initials into the armrest. That’s my favorite seat. It has personality.”
He laughed. “We’ll have to ask the maintenance guys to do a check-through.”
“No!” She giggled. “I like that it squeaks. It’s like the chair says hello. It’s nice, in a weird way. I mean, we know the quirks of this theater.”
“I get you.” His voice was warm.
She sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder. “It feels like we’re waiting for something to start.”
He smiled. “Turnaround. This time, the audience needs to entertain us, right?”
“Speaking of that!” She looked up at him, her face alight with a grin. “Did you hear that woman cough last night? Jesus, it was like she had enough tuberculosis for ten people! I mean, yeah, people cough all
the time, but I think her lungs were splattered across the entire left half of the audience by the time she was done. I wanted to halt the play and start handing out umbrellas, or maybe penicillin.”
He laughed. “God, yes! I gestured to Martin to wait for a second before he started talking, to give her a chance to finish. I was worried people were going to ask for their money back.”
“Next time we need to have a doctor in the wings,” suggested Cleo. “Wait, we do have a doctor in the wings! Laska. Haha. I’ll ask her to bring some masks and stuff.”
He rolled his eyes. “Maybe we’ll give out complimentary cough drops at the door. If that woman comes again, she gets an entire shopping bag full.”
Cleo squeezed his thigh. “Do you ever think about what it would be like to be a doctor? Or something different?”
“How do you mean?”
She shrugged. “Just—how life would be if you’d taken a different path.” She thought about Laska; years of medical school, and now how she could help people. It would be remarkable to have that kind of skill in your hands and heart and brain, the ability to save lives. “Sometimes I get wistful for lives I don’t have. Paths I never chose.”
He took her hand and was silent for a few seconds. “Not often,” he said. “I’m glad I chose skiing, even though it wasn’t easy. And now, a chance at a second career, and it’s going so well? It’s like I got that chance, Cleo. To take two paths.” He hesitated. “But I guess, once in a while.” He cleared his throat. “When I was a boy, I wanted to be a pilot. I dreamed about it—learning to pilot a plane, maybe some old warbirds, maybe a modern jetliner—all kinds of planes. But that was just a dream.”
“I bet you’d be a great pilot.” She squeezed his fingers. “It’s never too late for that, really. You could still learn to fly! Get your license. Right?”
“Theoretically, it’s never too late for anything,” he agreed. “But practically? In my real life? Hell, no. I don’t have time to do that now, maybe not ever. It’s sort of… off the table.”
“Yeah.” Cleo knew the feeling. “For me, being a doctor is off the table. You’re right. Technically, if I wanted to: Sure, I could redo college as pre-med, apply to med school, and maybe someday even get into med school. It’s possible. But is it probable? No.”
It was strange to think that as young as she was, some avenues of life were completely closed off to her forever. Even if she wished to study medicine, that way was blocked by a million tons of hard rock, tumbled down: No Entry. And that thought, as much as the idea of learning of weird diseases and symptoms, made her uneasy in the soul.
Part of enjoying life was knowing you had options, she thought, the ability to do anything, see anything, be anything. When you were young, these options were endless, stretched out in front of you in easy, bright arrays. A buffet full of food you’d never be able to eat, yet there just for your taking, prepared for your palate alone. And then, as you got older, the table emptied, bare patches appeared, and then whole stretches of empty tablecloth, bright white and sterile, without even a crumb to remind you what might have been there, once.
She grabbed his hand harder. “So the important thing is to not be depressed or sad about things we can’t achieve. Just keep looking forward and doing the best we can with what we do have, what we have chosen. Make sure we don’t get blinded by the sparkly glittery stuff in our past that we can’t get back, but focus on the gorgeous things right here in front of us. Don’t overlook the magic that’s right here.” Her voice was vehement, and she thought that maybe she was talking about more than jobs and hobbies, but about love and life itself.
He didn’t answer, but when he hugged her closer to his warmth, it seemed like a reply; he was saying, “Yes, yes, yes,” with his body. Agreeing with her; saying he’d be willing to try finding the jewel right under his feet.
A click startled them both; shocked out her reverie, she nearly jumped.
“Anyone here?” Martin came in, keys jingling, his boyfriend in hand, street sounds following them like a trail of cologne until the side door slammed shut. “Hellooo? Oh, Cleo. Axel. Hi.” He looked up at them, and his face turned pink. “Hey, I’m just… showing Mike… my dressing room.”
Mike grinned and ducked his head, then looked up and gave a half wave. “Hi, guys. Good to see you.” His blond hair was mussed from the breeze and, like Martin, he was wearing business casual attire. They could have stepped right out of an ad for cool millennial clothing in some trendy magazine.
Cleo rolled her eyes and grinned. “Sure you are. Hey, Mike. Good to see you.”
Martin flushed a deeper red. “You’re one to talk.” He raised his eyebrows and smiled at Cleo. “I’m just following your lead. I mean, you guys lead the way in creative theater usage, right?” He laughed.
“What do you mean?” Axel frowned. He stood up, so Cleo did too, awkwardly.
Martin cleared his throat. “Uh, nothing. I’m sorry. Just joking! I was just trying to be funny. I apologize. Mike, how about maybe we’ll just come back later.”
“No, don’t go,” called Cleo, just as Axel said, “Martin, I’d appreciate it if you don’t gossip with the cast.” He crossed his arms.
“God, no! No gossip.” Martin’s face looked worried. Cleo felt hers must be the same. She snuck a glance at Axel, and his expression was cold, all the previous softness dissipated. Fuck. Why did Axel have to get so pissy just because someone noted that they were together?
Axel grabbed his backpack from the side of the stage. “Martin, you can stay, of course. I need to head out, though. Cleo.” He nodded at her. “Thanks for the rehearsal today. You’ll killing it on stage. Keep it up.” He smiled, but it was brief and seemed almost pained. Then he strode off the stage. When he opened the side door, a honking horn blared into her ears until the sound was sliced in half by his exit.
Cleo bit her lip. “Sorry, Martin. I don’t know what that was about.” She hopped down off the stage, trying to ignore the sick butterflies in her stomach. To get herself back on an even footing, she whispered, “But admit it, you two are totally here to do the dirty deed on your lunch break!”
“We will admit to nothing,” said Martin haughtily, then burst into giggles. “God, was it that obvious?”
“Are Axel and I that obvious?” Cleo twisted her fingers together. “What you said about creative theater usage. Does everyone know?”
Martin shrugged. “I mean, I know, because I’m your partner. Other people suspect, but they don’t know for sure.”
“Oh, my God.” She pushed her face into her hands, then peeked out through her fingers. “Are they gossiping a lot? You’re everyone’s favorite to talk to. Be honest.”
“No. Relax. Like I said, remember? The play is doing well. As long as you keep it quiet, nobody really cares. It’s fun to wonder about, but it’s not like anyone’s angry or really excited about it. You’re amazing and kicking ass, our reviews are great, and nobody’s going to fuck with a good thing. I mean, other topics are what drugs Lex is taking, and whether Mark is planning to get his surgery soon, and if Kara and Darian are fucking. You’re not the only headliners.”
“Okay. It’s just—okay.” She rubbed her cheeks. “I just don’t want people to think I got the role because of him.”
Martin shrugged. “I guess that comes with the territory, though, you know? Someone’s always going to think that, even if it’s not true. Just, you know, keep doing a great job. It won’t matter.”
She nodded, and looked back across the stage to where Axel had disappeared. “I’m going to go.”
“Is everything okay?” Martin put his hand on her arm. He blinked at her. “We didn’t mean to mess anything up. We didn’t know you guys were here.”
“Oh, yeah. Of course! You know he’s just private. Hey, enjoy christening your dressing room.” She smirked and gave both of them a hug. “See you later.”
On the way home, she tried to remember the emotional bond she’d had with Axel before he’d switc
hed off. Sometimes he seemed to really care for her; other times he pushed her away.
She sighed. It was hard to keep her heart uninvolved when he was so funny and smart and… fun to be around. She needed to focus harder, to remember that for him, this was just a short-term thing with an end already predetermined.
Chapter Sixteen
“Did you see this?” Laska pushed the newspaper across the table to Cleo.
“What is this artifact?” Cleo frowned. “I know not what to do with this sloppy mishmash of regurgitated tree cud. And where is the turn page icon?” She felt happy and loose.
They were nearing the end of the play and gearing up for the finale, which usually summoned some of the most serious critics to write an overall assessment of the thing: the directing, the actors, the whole play. Normally she’d be nervous, but right now, she was confident and excited. Like she had so much excess passion that she could toss it into the play, over and over again, and never run out. It was like lava that kept flowing, refilling her, so she never ran dry.
Laska tapped the article at the bottom of the folded-over page. “Read here, digital goddess.” She added, somewhat guiltily, “It was free at the gym, okay?”
“Laska, I think the papers there are free to read there, not free to keep. Like the towels. Use, return.”
“Please, Cleo. If they didn’t want me to keep their shitty, scratchy towels that don’t provide as much coverage as a postage stamp, they wouldn’t make them so useful for mopping up dog urine at two a.m., when my stupid husband is still at the stupid hospital.”
“Good point,” agreed Cleo, but then the picture caught her eye. “Is that what’s her name?” She grabbed the newspaper and unfolded it, reading out loud. “Crooner Alyssia Hart is slated to make an appearance this week at a few small Chicago clubs. Although she’s usually seen at larger venues, she told us that she ‘likes to give back to the community that gave me my start, you know? It was in the holes-in-the-wall clubs of Chicago that I got my start, so where better than to share my love?’”
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