Brilliant

by Lark O'Neal

He only nods.

  * * *

  Cloaked in our hangovers, we ride silently to the set, and into hair and make-up. Again I’m in the white blouse and black skirt and black heels. Again he’s in the tight black pants and flowing shirt and tiger mask. Again, the music, the dance, our closeness. He says in my ear, “I am very hung-over,” and then the mics are on us and we have to stick to the script, and we pull it off without a hitch.

  Then the kiss scene comes, after lunch. I’m irritable and jumpy waiting for my call. Mercedes is nowhere around today and I sit it my room, playing with the internet on my phone.

  Tyler has sent me a text: I’ll be in Aspen tomorrow. Will you be around? I have something to give you. No strings attached.

  For a long minute, I consider the pros and cons. Kaleb is not letting me back in, so his opinion shouldn’t matter. I don’t want to lead him on, either, by letting him think he has a chance with me. I text back, finally. Not sure I’ll even have any time. We’re filming.

  I’ll take my chances. I have to come anyway, with a friend of mine. Kaitlin. I think I told you about her, my friend from Maine. She’s just made the team and her family is in Aspen so she wants to come over and celebrate with them.

  Also, he adds, she would really like to meet Mercedes. Major fan.

  I hesitate. Let me check schedules.

  Awesome. Break a leg.

  I laugh. You don’t!

  For a minute, I hold the phone in my hand, thinking. If Kaleb sees that there’s nothing between Tyler and me, maybe it will heal things. He’s bringing a girl with him, and the girl wants to meet Mercedes, and maybe we can have a group meeting that will show what’s really going on here, which is nothing.

  Impulsively, I text back: You know what? Let’s make it happen somehow or another—as long as I can bring Kaleb to anything that’s going on.

  Absolutely. I’ll call you when we get there.

  * * *

  Kaleb is pacing the corner of the set when I arrive, restless, mask in hand. The stylist pats powder over my face, combs my hair into place, and then it’s action. The palm to palm speech in Romeo and Juliet is a sonnet, and Mercedes has tipped her hat to that, with lines of ten syllables, which I didn’t even notice until she told me.

  Rhyming, she said, would have taken it over the top, but she liked the subtle attempt at getting the ten syllables per line. Some of it is a bit of a stretch, but the attempt is awesome.

  I asked where she’d studied Shakespeare. She said, drily, “Library.”

  In the scene, Rome has pulled Jules into a hidden corner, behind a curtain. She protests that Capulet will kill him if he sees him touch her this way, and kill her, if she touches back.

  “I will take all the risk upon myself,” Rome says, pulling off his mask, and tugging the curtain around them. “And steal a kiss that will—perhaps— give long life.”

  His mouth is millimeters above mine, and the camera wants close-ups so we pause here. I feel his breath on my lips, see every single one of his long, sooty lashes and the gold-amber blaze of his eyes. His breath—and mine—is coming faster, and I can’t seem to help reaching for him, touching his jaw. “You will make of me a criminal, too,” I whisper, slightly ironically, as if she doesn’t care, which she does, “doomed by lips and breath to burn for all time.”

  He laughs softly and bends in and I lift my face—

  We kiss. It’s the first time I’ve kissed him in weeks, and the first plush taste of his mouth almost buckles my knees. His lips are full and soft and it seems at first like it’s going to be a fake movie kiss, because he turns his head slightly and there’s no real kissy tongue in it and I kiss fake open mouth, too, and then suddenly, I can’t help it—my hands are on his arms and our tongues brush and then he leans softly into me, his hand against my ear, his palm on my neck. He lifts his head, looks into my eyes, holds my head steady and kisses me again, our eyes locked.

  And there we are, in Jess and Kaleb world, everyone else forgotten. The only thing real is this, us, our connection.

  It’s electric, wild, and I can hear a roaring in my ears, the roar of yearning, the roar of my blood boiling. His arms under my hands are so hard and pliant at once, and I can’t think of anything except that I would keep kissing him for a hundred years. When he pulls away, I half-sway toward him, and he swallows.

  From behind us my movie bodyguard says, “Jules, come with me now,” and I’m pulled away, into the fray of the party, looking back over my shoulder at Rome, who covers his face with the tiger mask again, his nostrils flaring.

  “Cut!” Peter calls. “That was great. Take a break, five minutes, and let’s do it again.”

  * * *

  It takes a dozen takes to get all the pieces right. Not all of them contain a kiss, but all of them are touching somehow, hands entangled, Kaleb’s thigh sliding close to mine, his hand on my face, the delirious moment close on my face when he pulls away.

  Dizzy with all of it, I head back to my room, closing the door and leaning against it until my heart slows down. If desire were a color, my pores would be spurting red heat, dripping down my body, making a river of boiling hunger to trail through the sets.

  The door pushes against me, and I grab the handle, trembling a little when I discover Kaleb on the other side. His eyes are dragon-bright, his curls tumbling in wild disarray into his face.

  “Let me in,” he says, and I’m so surprised I don’t even question what he’s doing there.

  And maybe I know. He pushes the door closed, locks it, and pushes me against it. “Camp sex, okay?”

  “I don’t—”

  “We have to make this movie. It’s just like camp, not permanent. Camp sex.”

  I don’t care what he calls it. I reach for him, and he takes my face in his hands to kiss me with no restraint at all. His tongue plunges into my mouth, seeking union, and it sends almost painful waves of hunger through me. I reach for him even as he’s pulling the skirt up around my waist, and one hand is unbuttoning my blouse, pulling off the pasty that hides my nipples and then his mouth is hot on my breast and his fingers are diving between my legs. And I’m pulling his belt off, pushing his pants down his thighs and grabbing his cock, rubbing the tip with my thumb, which pulls a groan from his throat.

  His mouth is back on mine, and he hauls me upward, and my legs wrap around his waist, and then he’s in me, deep and hard, my back slamming into the door, his hands hard on my ass, pulling me closer. He nips my lip, and I bite him back, hard, furious with him, the orgasm in me already building, hot, hot, hot, as he dives hard into me, over and over, his fingers kneading flesh, his mouth taking, nipping, sucking. And then he’s shuddering against me, those fierce thighs going still and rigid. I suck on his lower lip and he sucks the tip of my tongue into his mouth and I come, too, hard, almost too violently.

  My head falls into his shoulder and we’re panting together, sweating, the pulsing going on and on, slower and slower. “Camp sex, right?” he whispers.

  “Camp sex,” I agree and pull his mouth up to mine.

  Chapter TWENTY

  It’s nearly seven and I’m so tired even my fingernails want to have a nap, and of course I get a text from Tyler: We made it to Kaitlin’s folks. Will Mercedes be available tonight?

  Let me check.

  I text her and she doesn’t answer, which is weird for her. Maybe she’s having sex or picking up some guy at the bar, but she had agreed to meet Kaitlin tonight, so I’m surprised. I text Tyler back and let him know that I’m looking for her, then square my shoulders and head down the hall to Kaleb’s place. He has to come with me or there will be more trouble tomorrow.

  To my surprise, there’s laughing coming from his room, and I knock, feeling a little awkward when he swings the door open and I see a small knot of guys on the couches, bags of chips and popcorn and other junk food on the coffee table. Mercedes, curled up in a big recliner, her feet bare beneath her jeans, is the only female.

  What is she doing here? I frown
, trying to fight the jealousy rising in my gut. I have no right to be jealous. I have no claim on Kaleb, after all, well…except camp sex today. But she says she’s my friend, and says she doesn’t like young guys and says she doesn’t want anything to do with them.

  I think of her offer to “fuck” Kaleb. You know, for me. My sake.

  Right.

  She cries out and points at the television and the big Hawaiian who did the Haka with Kaleb growls, his arms outstretched as he uses a controller to try to make something happen in the game they’re all playing. One of the other guys cheers.

  “Hey,” Kaleb says. “What’s up?”

  “Never mind. I didn’t realize you were busy. But can you send Mercedes out?”

  “What’s up, Jess?” He is relaxed and easy, and the second I say what I need to say, that will disappear. But honesty has got to be here, even if he doesn’t like what I have to say.

  “Tyler came with one of his snowboarder friends to Aspen and she’s a huge fan of Mercedes’ book and wants to meet her. She agreed to meet with them earlier and now they’re here in town.”

  “I see.” His eyes cool to flinty agate. “Mercedes. Did you forget an appointment with a reader?”

  “Oh, shit.” She jumps up and scrambles for shoes. She’s as casually dressed as I’ve ever seen her, a pair of worn jeans and a soft blue sweater. “Sorry, Jess. I did forget.”

  I give her a look like, what are you doing?

  “Sorry,” she says again and pulls on her turquoise flats. “Let’s go.”

  “Do you want to come?” I ask Kaleb.

  “Now why would I want to do that?” His smile is slight and not particularly kind. “I’m playing video games with my posse.”

  Mercedes rushes over to us. “Oh, come on, Kaleb, let’s all go.” She calls over her shoulder. “Hey guys, we’re going down to the hotel to meet a couple of snowboarders in contention for the Olympics. Want to come? Tyler Smith and Kaitlin Bouvier.”

  “Kaitlin Bouvier? She made the team, dude.” A slim guy with black hair in a long braid hops up. “And she’s hot. I’m going.”

  The Hawaiian stands, too, smoothing down his shirt as he eyes Mercedes’ ass. “I’ll go.”

  “Me, too,” says the last guy.

  I raise an eyebrow at Kaleb.

  His jaw tightens and he glances with annoyance toward the others. “Whatever.”

  * * *

  It isn’t until we all tumble into the great room of the condo bar area that I realize how very weird this is going to be, my two worlds slamming together.

  Or maybe I did realize it and the only way I could deal with it was to stand in the land of denial for as long as necessary. So I’m walking into the great room with the others, Mercedes striding along beside me, Kaleb no doubt glowering somewhere behind, a couple of the other guys chatting, talking about what kind of beer to order.

  And there, by a big fireplace made of pale stones, is Tyler, his legs kicked out in front of him, that slouchy hat making him look hip and very much an ad for the very ski area he’s sitting in. A girl is with him, sitting on the arm of his chair. She’s lean, with a gamine face and wide green eyes that are a little too far apart. Her thick copper and blonde hair is tomboyish, cut raggedly, the bangs too long.

  I’m nervous enough that I grip Mercedes’ arm, even though I’m starting to doubt her loyalty to me. As if she knows what I’m feeling, she curls her arm close, bringing my hand into her ribs. “I got this, all right?”

  And as if she can pull a new personality on at any moment, like a dress that’s yellow or black or red according to whatever she needs, she steps ahead of the group a little and says in a gracious voice, “Hi. You have to be Tyler Smith—we’ve all been watching your Olympic bid with excitement.”

  He stands, his eyes going to a strange, cold place as he stands to greet her. “That’s right. And you’re Mercedes Williams.” He shakes her hand, his gaze flitting over her shoulder to where I’m standing, then back. “I read your book.”

  “You did.” They’re still shaking hands, but it’s plain they’re squaring off, like boxers gripping the other’s hand until one cracks. “I wouldn’t think it would be your cup of tea.”

  “Not really,” he says evenly, and I’m startled by his rudeness. Then he adds, “But I’m not your target audience.”

  “No.” She gives him her Dismissal of Disdain and lets go of his hand.

  “Tyler!” Kaitlin cries. “Why are you being so rude? She leaps off the arm of the chair and holds out her hands. “I’m the fan. Like major, major, major fan, and he might be lying to you, but I saw him crying over Torches, so it must not have been too bad.” She elbows Tyler aside.

  The others move around me to greet whoever it is they’re more interested in—Tyler or Kaitlin—and I hang back, completely unsure of what to do. Kaleb stands beside me, arms crossed. “Nothing weird about this, huh?”

  “What was I supposed to do? He texted and said Kaitlin was a big fan. Her parents have a house here and she came to stay with them.”

  “So he said.”

  I shrug, realizing that I have my arms crossed, too, and that’s of course when Tyler breaks away and comes over to where we are standing, just slightly apart from the others. He never looks uncomfortable, and he doesn’t now. He simply pauses in front of us.

  “Kaleb,” he says with a nod. He’s a little shorter, I realize, and has to look upward. Not a lot, but enough that I notice, enough that it gives Kaleb an advantage.

  “Tyler.”

  They eye each other for a long minute, neither of them saying anything, and I am not about to insert myself into the dynamic, so I stand there, too, my heart racing.

  Tyler looks at me at last. “Can you spare a minute?” he asks.

  I glance up at Kaleb, but he might as well be carved of wood. “Sure,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Mmm,” Kaleb says, and I hear the sound down my spine, low and derisive.

  I shake my head and follow Tyler over to one side. He picks up his backpack and brings out a paperback book. “I found this in a tiny bookstore in Breckenridge,” he says. “It seemed like it was supposed to be for you.”

  The cover is worn, showing a woman from the sixties with a head scarf and big sunglasses. Slouching Toward Bethlehem, by Joan Didion, it says. “Thanks,” I say, and can’t help giving him a smile. “You always bring me books.”

  “I know.” He slants his head, the light catching on the glossiness. “It’s kind of a sickness of mine.”

  “And mine,” I have to admit. I glance at the back of the book.

  “Are you familiar with her?” he asks.

  “No.”

  “Very famous essayist, and there’s some really good ones in that collection. She also—” he holds up a finger “—went to school for a short while in Colorado Springs, which I thought you’d like to know.”

  “Like university?”

  “No, elementary.” His grin is swift and dazzling, showing those amazing teeth. His rich boy teeth. I glance over my shoulder toward Kaleb, who is heading for the second group.

  “Well, thanks.” I tap my palm with it. “How are you doing with the ankle? I saw the trials today. Looked strong.”

  “Yeah. They were. One more day.”

  “It seems crazy to make such a long drive when so much is hanging in the balance.”

  He shrugs. His eyes catch on my face for one long minute, and I glimpse the sorrow he’s tamping down. It rubs against the raw and healing places on my heart, making some of the cuts bleed again, but I feel Kaleb’s presence down my back, and step away.

  “Crossing my fingers for you.”

  He nods.

  “Well, thanks. I had a pretty long day, so—”

  “What’s with your friend Mercedes?” He looks over my head at her.

  “What do you mean?” I turn to see that she’s standing close to Kaitlin, their heads together as they talk earnestly about something. Mercedes has her hand o
n Kaitlin’s arm, and she’s listening intently.

  “Kind of a bitch, right?”

  “Oh, maybe because you were such a jerk?”

  “No, she gave me that look, like she smelled something nasty, that ghetto girl slur.”

  “What?” I glare at him. “She’s probably a millionaire. More than a millionaire. Don’t be a douchebag on top of being a dick.”

  He frowns at me, taken aback. “Where’d the sweet-mouthed Jess go? I remember when your worst swear word was crap.”

  “Things change.”

  “Anything to do with your friend there?” He glares again at Mercedes, and I suddenly feel like the Great Invisible One. All of the other guys are standing close by her, including Kaleb, who is stepping up to offer his hand to Kaitlin. She looks up and gives him a perfect rich girl smile, all her teeth so perfect, her skin so well-cared for, the clothes she’s wearing, every detail expensive, well-tended.

  Except the hair she’s chopped so badly. It’s intriguing. Does she not care about hair?

  Irritable, exhausted, tired of thinking about everything under the sun, I shake my head. “I have to go. Have fun, and good luck on the last run.”

  He catches my sleeve. “Jess—”

  “No,” I say, and pull out of his grip, walking away, out into the night on my own, a book in my hand, feeling very alone.

  KALEB

  I would have stayed in my room, brooding, furious, jealous. Instead, I went downstairs with her and watched as she blew the famous snowboarder off like he was an annoying little boy.

  Our eyes met. I smiled.

  He didn’t.

  Chapter TWENTY-ONE

  In my room, smarting and irritable, I realize that although it still feels like it sometimes, I’m not alone. Not anymore. I’ve got my dad and Katie and Electra and Henry now, all of them willing and ready to talk things out with me if I need an ear. Instead, I find myself at my laptop, opening a file, and firing off a letter.

  Dear Mom,

  I wish you were here so that I could talk to you, so that I could share everything that’s happening. I could buy you some new clothes and we could eat at a fancy restaurant, which I know how much you would enjoy.