Off Screen

by Josephine Traynor

  Six

  Harrison

  The silent treatment told me I’d hit a nerve, and the coffee down the sink just confirmed it. I shouldn’t have said it and I feel like a dick for saying it. I was surprised when she didn’t drive off down the street, leaving me to find my own way. I will say I’m sorry. I really will. I just need something to wash down the bitterness of apology and some cotton balls to cram in my ears to help block out this awful music she has playing. Driver’s choice be damned. She’s been sipping from her flask, so I have to make my move if I’m going to get any. I reach out, and my fingers are almost around her coffee flask when her hand whips off the steering wheel to slap my hand again without so much as her giving me a glance.

  “Truce?” The lack of caffeine coupled with the ear-bleeding boppy songs playing has me speaking out. “I’m sorry.”

  “What?” she calls over the music.

  “I’m sorry,” I yell just as she turns the music off, so I’m shouting for no reason.

  “For what?”

  Letting out a huff, I throw my hands in the air. I should just come clean from the beginning. “For what I said. That was a low blow, even between us. I’m sorry I checked the boot of the car for rope and a shovel while I tucked my bag in.”

  Lucky I was looking at her or I would have missed it. That small rise at the corner of her mouth. A smile. She cracked a small smile at one of my jokes.

  “You mustn’t have checked very hard, they are in the suitcase.”

  “What’s with the cooler box?” I ask.

  She glances at me from the corner of her eye and holds out on giving me the answer for a few moments.

  “For the bits that need grinding up later?” I say.

  “Funny you should say that.” She finally tells me that she had the forethought to buy some groceries.

  I just assumed it was all catered for and didn’t pack anything. With minimal crew going, I hope it’s catered for.

  I know I should be apologizing for everything but I like my balls where they are. “So, why the secrecy about where we are filming?”

  “Lydia told me it was to stop the storyline from being leaked. I do know we have to shoot a couple of scenes just in case we are filmed by the paps. Those fuckers seem to know where I am before I do,” she says as she takes another sip from her flask.

  Something about the way she swears is such a turn-on for me. She’s a feminine but strong beauty. Her blue eyes against her tanned skin give the complete opposite picture to those filthy words I’ve imagined coming out of that delicious mouth. The times I’ve nearly slipped into kissing her the way I want to instead of a work kiss have been too many to count. I’d kiss her gently, just enough to take her breath away before having a soft bite of that bottom lip of hers and let her control the kiss just till she thinks she’s got the upper hand and I’d take over. I know how she always wants to be the best. My work kiss is believable to the camera. We seal our lips against each other’s. I tried for tongue once, and she almost bit it off. I’m not sure if it was for me trying to steal a sneaky kiss or me telling her that she needed to get our in-house gardener to bring his brush cutter as she feels like she’s missed a waxing appointment. When you spend a few hours between someone’s legs, even when we are dressed, I knew it was a way to make her squirm.

  Riley makes a soft sigh before she takes another sip. There’ll be nothing left soon, so I make my move again. She’s too slow with her swipe to stop me as I turn in my seat and bring the flask to my lips.

  “Oh no, you didn’t!”

  “Oh God, you made this?” The taste is delicious. I don’t often drink coffee but when I do, I don’t want any of that burnt bean business. Lifting the flask again, I savour the taste as much as I can while I fend off a swinging fist. “If you didn’t tip it down the sink, we wouldn’t have had to share.”

  “I wasn’t planning on sharing to start with. Now I’m going to get your germs.”

  “Hey, you’re paid to kiss this mouth.” I prayed I could take her mouth for free.

  “I don’t want to know what you say to your women friends.”

  “Ohh. Good shot. I’ll let it slide if you keep that fucking awful music off.”

  I take another long draw of the coffee as she breaks into a smile and says, “It is awful music.”

  I shake my head as it dawns on me—she hates the music, too. “You know, if you used your powers for good instead of flying around on your broom, we could possibly be friends.”

  Continuing to nurse her travel flask, I fall back into comfortable silence until she pulls the car into an off-ramp lane. “Toilet break. We’re about halfway, and this is apparently the last place we can stop.” She pulls the car in next to the pump. “I’ll fill up if you want to grab some snacks. I’ll meet you in there.”

  Even though the conversation hasn’t been very forthcoming, it’s just been nice to be near her. By doing that, I’ve been able to note that she’s got a Google alert set up for her name because no one’s phone would buzz like that without it. Dominic set one up for me on my phone, and within an hour, I was asking him to remove it. I wanted to find these things out for myself. So far, I know she sticks to ten over the speed limit. She twirls her hair between her pointer and rude finger. She’s constantly reapplying lip balm, and for that, I’m thankful in a torturous way. Her lips are so soft and inviting.

  Getting out of the car, she rounds my side to open the petrol cap. I’m transfixed as she lifts her hands over her head in a stretch. I say a silent prayer when her stomach is exposed, and the guy at the pump next to us coughs.

  “You’re Jordan.”

  And with that, Riley’s hands drop, and she looks around to see who else heard.

  “And he’s Harrison Harvey,” she says, pointing her finger right at me to pull me into the shit with her.

  “Oh geez, man. I didn’t even see you. My wife loves you. Not like she loves me. Some days I do think she loves you more than me. Can I get a picture with you? She says I could be your older brother.”

  I look at the stranger, and he nearly falls over his own petrol hose. He’s about a foot shorter than me, a lot wider than me, and bald, so yeah, he could be my older brother in an alternate universe. The guy’s already got his phone out while Riley’s replacing the hose back on the petrol pump. She locks the car and walks the opposite way to go inside and pay.

  “Sure,” I say, and Riley puts more distance between us.

  “Do you think you could ring my wife?”

  Well, that’s new?

  “And what would I say? And maybe we shouldn’t be making phone calls near the petrol.” It’s obvious within about thirty more seconds that this guy is not going to back off. “Okay. Well. Let’s get the photo, and we can give her a call after that, okay?”

  I give up on conversation when this stranger’s wife spends the first thirty seconds arguing that I’m not really me which then changes to a continuous loop of “Oh my God!” I still don’t know the guy’s name. I pass the phone back and give him a wave to indicate that I’m done and go in search of Riley who’s standing just inside the door, slurping an ice drink through a straw and trying on hats.

  Giving a big smile, she says, “Look at you, making friends.”

  “Taking on the role as a trucker, eh?”

  She swaps the pink hat for a blue one and hands me a tan-coloured fedora. “We are clearly very identifiable.”

  I take the hat from her hand and try it on.

  “No. That makes you look even more like a celebrity,” she says. The fedora is gone and replaced by the pale-pink trucker hat. “There you go. Perfect. And these.” She hands me glasses that cover three-quarters of my face.

  “Everyone will want to look at me when I wear these,” I say as I put them back on the shelf and move to the snack aisle. I’m about to make my selection when Riley picks up a handful of chocolate bars and nudges me towards the counter. Refusing to move until I’ve made my selections, she digs her fingers into my
side, which tickles more than hustles me along.

  “Your biggest fan is wrapping up. We need to get out of here while he’s in here or we won’t be able to get out of here.” Riley rolls her wrist, giving me the universal sign of hurry up, which makes me go slower.

  Mirroring my speed, Riley puts down each individual bar, and her lips get thinner until she pushes past me and strides to the counter. Paying for her hat, she pulls it down so I can’t see her face. I pretend to look at the assorted treats while she takes the long way around to the back of the store, and the reason becomes apparent as my newfound fan busts through the door.

  “All right, she’s on her way here.” He huffs and he holds out his phone.

  “What?” I all but yell as I hear a swear word escape Riley’s mouth. “Mate, I can’t stick around. I have to get on the road.” I pick up a fistful of chocolate bars and hightail it to the front counter.

  “She’s just going to stop off and pick up her mother; they love you, too,” he says while pulling his phone out to take more photos.

  Walking briskly past him, I grab the ridiculous sunglasses off the turnstile and shove them on my face. I’m halfway across the lot to the car when I hear my name being called.

  “Start the car,” I call, but Riley’s already moving the car towards me. Ducking down, I fold into the seat without a second to spare as Riley peels towards the on-ramp.

  “Jesus, now I know what you mean about the photographers.”

  “You were loving it,” she says with an air of snippiness. She just shakes her head while she goes back to her comfortable ten over the speed limit. “Can you grab me an apple?”

  Picking one of the three in the bag, I rub the skin against my leg, and she starts shrieking.

  “What are you doing to my apple?”

  “I’m cleaning it for you. Do you know how many people have probably touched this and you were going to eat it?”

  “And rubbing it over your crotch is going to make it cleaner?”

  I shouldn’t have said it and I feel like a dick for saying it. “It was nowhere near there! Don’t you want it now?”

  “Not after you planted how many people might have touched it and who knows what else in my brain.”

  Since she brought up the topic of my crotch, there have been many times where the closeness of our role has caused for accidental brushing and touching of each other. I don’t know how many times I’ve copped a feel or her leg grazed against me. That’s where I’d usually drop an insult to give myself some space to berate myself into getting rid of anything growing unexpectedly.

  Oh shit. Don’t think about that now.

  Wriggling in my seat, I shift my weight to the side to tilt my hips and hide the bulge that won’t behave.

  “How about a banana then, and don’t you peel it.”

  Fuck. Not a banana. I tell myself to keep staring out the window. Knowing her, she wouldn’t be the kind to break it off into pieces. Shit. Stop. My head is saying no, and my eyes fight to see what she’s doing. Yep. Banana skin hanging down over her hand. Slowly, her hand inches towards her mouth. The banana disappears as she takes the last half in her mouth.

  Holy mother of pearl.

  “What’s wrong with you? You keep moving in that seat like you’re a dog trying to get comfortable or someone was too busy fluffing his fan’s wife instead of using the toilet.”

  “Just trying to get comfortable in this tin can. Might have a sleep.”

  My other option is to toss myself from this moving vehicle.

  The next thing I know, I’m waking up from what turned out to be the sharp knock on the window by Riley’s hand. Trying to get my bearings, I can see beautiful lush green trees and a path that leads between the trees to somewhere I can’t see. I wipe my cheek free of my drool, open the door, and stretch my legs before getting out. I have no idea how long the rest of the trip took, but if my tight legs are anything to go by, it’s been at least another two hours. There’s a wooden cabin with a big veranda on the two sides that I can see.

  “The lady’s inside opening up the cabin for us,” she says while pulling out a coffee machine and a bag on either shoulder.

  Hearing Riley speak, I turn to see her thanking a stout woman in her fifties who appears to be giving nervous glances in my direction. The stranger takes each step carefully until she reaches the bottom. When she does, she advances as I lift the cooler box out of the car.

  “Helloooo, Mr Harvey,” the lady sings. Sings. Yes. She sang her hello.

  “Helloooo,” I sing back just as badly. I might be able to dance but I can’t sing a note to save myself.

  “I hope your trip was nice.” The woman is continuing to sing at me, and I tell myself that I must be dreaming. Introducing herself, she drags her name out. “If you need anything, anything, anything, you can give my number a call. I’m so glad you love to be sung to. I grew up on musicals. Oh, such fun. I can’t wait to tell my husband that when we speak to you it must be through song.”

  What? Riley! She set me up again. “No. Really, that’s not necessary.”

  Helen gives her skirt a little flick and changes up the tempo. “I don’t want to get fired. The lovely lady told me that you would tell me to stop to test my commitment.”

  Touche, Riley. Touche. “Well, you’ve passed. You have a great night.”

  “I willllllllllllllllll,” she shrieks so loud that the wildlife scatter.

  I move around her to take the cooler box indoors. I have my luggage; Riley can fend against the tone-deaf dame. I step inside the first room, which is a large living space and an open-plan kitchen. Riley comes in, and her back is to me until I drop the cooler box near the fridge. I feel stupid for not bringing any food. I don’t know where we are to even get anything delivered.

  “What was that all about? Telling that woman to only speak to me in song?”

  She turns and gives me one of those smiles that I wish would be followed by something kind. “A little light humour to fill my day after you decided to pleasure yourself in my car as I drove.” She shuddered as she spoke.

  I was horrified but slightly amused that I did that in my sleep. “I did what?”

  Her hand snaps up, signalling for me to stop. “Let’s not relive the horrors.”

  “So she’ll only speak to me through song?”

  The aromas of another fresh brew tantalise my nose as she waits for the cup to fill. Staring at me over the rim of her cup, she nods. “Opera is your preferred. Now. There are two rooms in Casa De Crappo. Neither of them has a television, and they both lead into the one bathroom.” Riley tells me that she’s not fussed about which room while pointing them out but tells me that she does have strict requests for bathroom time.

  “I don’t mind. We can flip a coin. Heads room one. Tails room two?”

  “Who would have thought we could be civil. Anyone would think we were friends,” she says with a smirk. Riley digs into her pocket and takes out her phone, her keys, some scrap pieces of paper, and finally, the metal ding of a coin. Her phone buzzes, and she leaves me to flip the coin.

  “Call it?”

  Without even looking at the coin, she calls heads even though hers is in her phone.

  “Tails never fails.” The coin lands squarely in my hand. I uncurl my fingers, and it is, indeed, tails. Finally, something going my way. “My choice. I choose room A.”

  “Well, enjoy it while you can. This footage from the service station … you’re going to be Bubba’s Bitch in your next room—or should I say cell?”

  Pocketing the coin, I take her phone to see the footage showing me removing the hideous glasses off the stand and fleeing through the door.

  “Did you pay for those glasses?” she asks.

  Shit. Shaking my head, I’m transfixed by the footage. “Shit. Shit. Shit. He’d just told me that his wife and her mother were on the road to come and meet me. I didn’t think. I just grabbed and ran …”

  “He already knew it was you. You didn’t think.
You might want to ring Dominic and get him to start sorting it out.”

  I’m already dialling his number as Riley turns on the television. Yep. There I am. The five o’clock news bulletin’s lead story. They interviewed the register attendant and the freaky fan, whose wife was in the background crying.

  “He paid for his chocolates but then just ran. I thought it was part of a production, the way he ran, I was thinking, no man would ever run like that for real,” the attendant said, and I cringe again. “Then it dawned on me that he was leaving for real, with a pair of sunglasses priced at nineteen ninety-nine.”

  Next up is Garry, and I hold my breath for what he is going to say. “Harry. It’s okay. I get that you had to run. I’ve paid for the glasses for you. That’s what best mates do for each other. Shame you had to bolt before meeting the missus. Sharon. Stop crying, love. She’s devastated that you couldn’t stick around, but I have these.”

  Riley falls back onto the sofa, holding her stomach as she laughs silently. Up on the screen are about ten poorly shot photos of me and Garry. There are two that seem reasonable, and that was from me taking them. The rest have a thumb in the frame or me with my eye half shut and mouth open looking like I was mid-sneeze. The replay changes back to me running from the shop. There’s not a mention of Riley or any footage of me getting into her car.

  “Best … photo … ever,” Riley manages to wheeze out. “At least your mate Garry saved your hide by paying for those fetching glasses. Maybe you could send them to Sharon? We were a right Thelma and Louise.”

  “Is there still time to find a cliff?”

  Seven

  Riley

  Finally, finally, Mr Can Do No Wrong is seen in a less than favourable light. Forget needing to do an ab workout today, that was the funniest thing I’ve seen in a long time. My stomach hurts from laughing as I continue to replay the footage from the security cameras on my phone while unpacking my bag. Opening the window takes some effort to let in some fresh air, but I’m glad I did—I can hear the ocean.