The Paradise Box Set

by Leslie Pike

  “I’ll be there at three. And thanks, Kizzy. Thanks for everything. I appreciate it more than you know.”

  She gives my hand a squeeze. “This is day one of your new life, you know. Isn’t it exciting?”

  I can’t wipe the smile from my face. She puts a positive spin on everything. Instead of acting like she feels sorry for me and treating me like a victim, she pointed out what’s wonderful about this day. She’s telling me where to look. I’m not used to that. I didn’t really consider it a choice.

  I walk to my door, and after a few attempts, get it open. Everything is new to me. Even how to open a hotel room door. I’ve got to forgive my ignorance. It’s a process. I put down my bags and take it all in. I’m surprised at what a comfortable living space this is. There’s a small living room, with a compact kitchen attached. I’ve got a dishwasher and microwave, a refrigerator and even a stove. I see a coffee maker and a basket brimming with different coffees and teas. And when I open the cabinets, they’re stocked with dishes, glassware and pots and pan. All the essentials for cooking. The drawers are filled with utensils and dish towels. There are even a few bags of microwave popcorn as a welcome. This is better than I ever imagined. I’ll be able to save money by cooking for myself and forgoing dining out.

  Everywhere I look, there’s another surprise. There’s a flat screen TV on the wall and a CD player on the table. I’ll be able to practice my guitar and compose my music in the comfort of my own space. I’ll play my one instrumental CD and accompany myself. I don’t know where to look first, or second or twelfth. I feel such a deep joy right now. I think I see a glimpse of what could be.

  There’s a kitchen table to the left of the front door. Which reminds me to scan the locks, to see if I need more security. They seem good, but I’ll most likely prop a chair under the knob. I lock both the deadbolt and the doorknob. Then I look through the peephole, to see my range of vision.

  There’s a double door, leading to the bedroom. When I walk through, I see the most comfortable and welcoming room. I have a queen-sized bed, soft with four pillows and a cushy comforter. There’s another flat screen, across from the bed, and a winged-back chair in the corner, next to a desk. The bedside tables hold the phone and a clock radio. There’s a menu from the Suite Café, so they must offer room service. I won’t be having that. Too expensive.

  I know they say there are lots of bacteria in hotel rooms, but right now it looks like the Queen’s chamber to me. I want for nothing. My own bed. That’s the most appealing perk here. No one to hurt me, or imprison me in their clutches. Kevin likes to wrap himself around me. No matter that I don’t like it. It’s claustrophobic to me. I shudder at the memory of that and the alcohol on his hot breath. Tonight there will be no violations. Not sexual, not emotional.

  I’ve got a fine bathroom connected by a closet and a space to put make-up on and store my toiletries. There’s a hair dryer in the drawer and a basket of shampoos and conditioners. The towels are thick and white and everything looks sparkling clean. I think I could live here forever. I want to tell someone, so I grab my cell and call my grandmother. I know she’s going to be so happy for me.

  A half an hour more and I’m standing at Kizzy’s door. I barely had enough time to talk with Grandma and straighten myself up. I’ve still got my Denver Broncos T-shirt and jeans on from earlier in the day. By the time I finished my call, I only had five minutes. Forget unpacking, I’ll have plenty of time tonight. The door swings open and a completely refreshed Kizzy emerges. She’s changed her clothes, put on some lipstick and switched bracelets. I feel like the poor relative. Damn, I should have at least removed the braid.

  “Ready?” she says.

  “Should I have changed?” I ask, hoping she says no.

  “No, you’re absolutely perfect as you are. I’m just a preening peacock. Let’s go.”

  As we walk to the elevators, I can see the people gathered in the courtyard below and around each of the level’s balconies. It’s a six-story party. There are drink carts and food trays, and beer cans everywhere. There’s no mistaking the smell of marijuana. There must not be any other guests at the hotel. The movie company obviously rented all the rooms for the entire two months. Because if you weren’t part of this, who would want to stay here?

  While we wait, I’m scoping the crowd below. I can see a pretty woman with dark sunglasses and curly long blonde hair. She’s laughing and talking with two men. She sits atop a stone ledge, swinging her legs. Her short shorts show them to full advantage. Beautiful legs. Even from here I can see they’re beautiful. From this angle, I can see right down her top. She’s not wearing a bra. Her voice carries all the way up here. The men don’t seem to mind. It looks as if they like what she’s saying. They’re smiling and obviously enjoying her company. One man passes her the joint he just took a drag from.

  Suddenly, the other man turns and looks up. Oh God. He’s looking right at me. I know that, because Kizzy is a few steps back, looking at her cell. I don’t think he can see her from where he stands. It takes me a few seconds to back away from the balcony and hide myself from his gaze. But that was enough for me to see his face. Oh, that face.

  “Here we go,” says Kizzy, as the elevator door opens.

  We get in, and all the way down I’m praying the gorgeous one doesn’t see me when I get off. In fact, the more I think of it the surer I am that I was mistaken. He probably was looking at someone on the floor above us. Why would he be looking at me? I feel pretty delusional having thought that in the first place. Ok, I feel better. I don’t have to hide from him. We arrive at the ground floor. The door slowly opens, to the courtyard. He’s standing there, right in front of us, waiting.

  He wears a relaxed white shirt, with the cuffs rolled up. It hangs six inches or so from the bottom of an open vest, and it’s reminiscent of the nineteen sixties. The jeans fit like something out of a men’s magazine. His hair is dark and long and thick. Just the perfect amount of loose curls frame his face. They fall in a perfectly unintentional placement. He’s got about a three-day growth of a heavy beard. He’s wearing a variety of bracelets, and they look good on him. He’s just the right amount of bohemian. I scan that all in a matter of seconds.

  “Finn!” says Kizzy.

  “Hello, darlin’. I thought I saw you up there.”

  Oh there it is. He was looking at her from the courtyard. But when he goes in for a hug, he doesn’t break eye contact with me. Those eyes. They’re ice blue, like the pure glacial water you see in photographs from Alaska. I think I’m hypnotized. “Who’s your friend?” he says.

  Kizzy puts an arm around my shoulder. “This is Esme Scott. She’s going to be working with me in wardrobe. Be nice to her.”

  Still, he hasn’t broken eye contact.

  “I’m always nice,” he says. Then he smiles. It’s the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. I half expect a spark of stardust to glimmer off his teeth. Those lips. Oh, Lord. He nods his head to me.

  “Hello, Esme. I’m Finn. Nice to meet you.”

  My legs feel weak. My heart is pumping faster than it should. And my mouth feels completely devoid of moisture. I’m aware that my breasts are rising with each breath. It’s as if he was doing so much more than just saying hello. When I speak, I hardly recognize my own voice. It’s high pitched and weak.

  “Hello.” That’s all I can muster. I look away from his gaze. But this guy must be used to that. I’m certain every woman he meets enflames, and then melts at the sight of him.

  Chapter Seven

  Finn

  Esme. What an adorable bird. That face. No makeup, but she doesn’t need any. Her lips and cheeks are flush pink with youth, and her eyelashes are jet black and long. They frame amber flecked brown eyes. And the loose braid falling over her shoulder? Love it. I can see her in a travel brochure, hiking a hill in Dublin, or milking a cow on her family’s farm. She’s young, this one. Very schoolgirl fantasy. Her body doesn’t look like a schoolgirls’ though. The word lush come
s to mind. She’s on the short side. And she’s not rail thin like most of the women I know. She’s got curves. Not my usual type, but only because I’m hard pressed to find a woman bigger than a size two in Los Angeles. Esme’s boobs are full and her waist small. She reminds me of a pinup girl from the fifties, as pure-as-the-driven-snow, with promise in her eyes.

  But the girl’s hiding her light. She’s dressed down in a football T-shirt, jeans and tennis shoes. It’s appealing though. And the way she’s shy and embarrassed by my attention? It doesn’t hurt the cause. There’s a kind of innocence about her. Something virginal. Another plus in my fantasies. I wouldn’t be opposed to showing her the way. I picture myself dressed in my priest’s vestments, revealing to her some of God’s earthly delights. Of course there’s a light emanating all around me. And the choir sings hallelujah. Way to get into character, Finn. I almost start laughing at myself.

  Kizzy interrupts my twisted daydream.

  “By the way, Finn, I got your measurements and altered your pants for Monday’s shoot. Do you want to check them before then? We could do it now.”

  “I’m off to location in a few minutes. We’ve had enough fittings in the last month. You know my body,” I say.

  I’m going to mess with Esme. I turn to her.

  “Kizzy needed to let the crotch out. Standard trousers are never big enough for me.” I say this with a perfectly straight face.

  Esme is speechless. She’s just staring at me with one eyebrow lifted in shock. Kizzy comes to her rescue with a sharp jab to my side.

  “Idiot! Quit messing with my girl. He’s pulling your leg, Esme. I had to take his pants in not out, and the crotch had nothing to do with it.”

  I see Esme relax. She starts laughing, and it’s charming me.

  “Ok, I see how this works. Now I know who to watch out for,” she says.

  I hear her real voice, devoid of nervousness. It’s so unique, both sexy and sweet at the same time. Hers has the same quality Elizabeth Taylor’s had.

  “You have absolutely nothing to worry about. I’m as harmless as a pussycat,” I say.

  She blushes at my words. Darling girl.

  * * *

  At the edges of Park City, steep mountains climb in three directions. Tom, the Location Scout, seems to have a good lay of the land. His four-wheel-drive easily navigates the terrain. The two-lane road we’re on winds deeper into the mountain. He’s telling Paul and me about the set he’s taking us to and future sets. I’m trying to tune him out. I’ve got other things on my mind. We’ve got two days till filming starts. Tomorrow’s the Fourth of July, then we have Sunday to sleep off holiday hangovers. I’ll be the only bright-eyed fucker on the fifth. And the thing is, I know I could handle one or two beers. My self-control, and ability to stop when I want, is great. My problem before was that I really didn’t want to stop. But when I did, I did it without AA or a therapist. It was cold turkey, and there were no slides back once I made my mind up. I also know that’s what most alcoholics say. No, I’m going to be strong while I’m here. My will is greater than my desire. My will is greater than my desire.

  Tom turns down a narrow road, off the main route. We drive about a half mile in, before we see the set. There’s a small crew working on the exterior of an old wooden building. There’s a sign above the door, St. Ignatius Rectory. It’s a two-story, imposing structure. I needed to see this before we begin filming. It helps to know where my character lives, as I mold my interpretation of Father James Kolda. I like this guy for a number of reasons. He’s an observer more than a talker. He’s the one who figures out the Pastor’s the killer. And there’s some good action as I rescue the kidnapped nun, the Pastors final victim. Thankfully, there are no explosions. I’m still a little hesitant after the last film.

  It’s mostly a big outdoor chase and fight scene with Jack as Father Adrian. I’ve got some ATV work and some water scenes. But stuntmen will be carrying the heavy load. The fact that we’ll have lots of exterior shots is a plus. We’ll be surrounded by Aspen trees and great weather. It’s all good. I’ll get in some rock climbing or hiking while I’m here. There’s so much available. Maybe I’ll invite Esme for a climb. I’ve got a special ladder. What an excellent idea. Tom parks the van next to the crew’s cars.

  “Let me know when you want to go back.”

  “We won’t be long. I just want to get a feel for things,” I say.

  “This place is really ideal,” says Paul.

  “Let’s take a look.”

  For the next hour, Paul and I explore the set. It’s pushed back from the road, hidden by the Aspens. I can see why Steven chooses this spot. Not only is it a perfect setting for the storyline, but it’s away from the fans who will be trying to find us. We’re hidden here. The Rectory is nearly one hundred years old, but stands firm amidst the trees. There used to be a church and a school associated with it, closer to town. But they’re long gone, as time and a changing population eventually made them unnecessary. And so a rectory full of priests with no church was useless. Then for years after, the building was used for other things. Its last incarnation was as housing for a camp for overweight kids. It’s been empty since 2009, when the church sold the property. It was scheduled for teardown when the Location Scout found it. Now it’s ours to do with as we want. I’m sure when we finish there will be bullet holes, and broken stair rails, and a general destruction of the property.

  “This place is a little creepy,” says Paul.

  “That’s what makes it right. A murderous priest and a kidnapped nun. The forest dark and ominous. Appropriately creepy.”

  As we pass the craft service table, I grab a water and toss one to Paul.

  “Ready for some lighter fare?” I ask.

  “Like what?’

  “It’s time for your ‘Welcome To Park City’ party. BB’s throwing it. Come on, we’re late.”

  “I don’t want a damn party, Finn.”

  I can see the vein that runs from his hairline, down his forehead. Every time Paul gets pissed, it appears.

  “Brother, believe me, you want this one.”

  Paul doesn’t protest any more. He knows me too well. If I say he’ll want to be there, he’ll want to be there. I put my arm around him.

  “Don’t worry. Have I ever steered you wrong?”

  * * *

  As we drive back to the condos, I’m checking off the list of things BB asked me to bring. Chocolates, a deck of cards, waxed dental floss and a bottle of tequila. Ok. When she told me what she had in mind, I knew she was just what Paul needs. Within twenty minutes of talking to her, I realized Jack had been right about me “getting along” with her. I think “getting along” is about to be redefined. Somehow, she sized both Paul and me up after one short conversation. She sensed his shyness and his inexperience, and my unchained nature, then spoke to me privately. Between the two of us, we came up with a plan. Great minds think alike. If she knew he was a priest, she’d be flying her freak flag even higher. But I made a promise to Paul. No telling. So instead, I said he was a psychologist in a prison, and he’d had limited sexual experience because of the size of his penis. That got her. She broke out in laughter, like the mad scientist that’s told Frankenstein lives.

  I’ve waited to the last day to tell Paul, because I don’t want to scare him off. And I don’t want him to have time to think about it, when I tell him what he’s in store for. I know he’s going to freak. Thankfully, it’s only one more hour to blast off. Maybe I can distract him till then.

  “So, what’s the plan?” Paul asks. The vein in his head remains. So much for distraction.

  “Ok. This is what’s happ…” I’m interrupted by an incoming text. I pull my cell out and read the unfortunate message.

  “Uh oh,” I say.

  What?”

  “Apparently, your party’s delayed for one day. BB’s at the dentist with a chipped tooth. She asks that we forgive her, and reschedule for tomorrow at six.”

  “Good, I’m not read
y anyway. I don’t know what you’re planning, but I know to be afraid.”

  “No, I’m telling you you’re going to love it. Trust me. Tomorrow night at six, you’ll be anything but afraid.”

  “Ok. Let’s go have a drink. You can tell me all about it,” Paul says.

  “Let’s get our own car first. What about that bar we saw coming in to town? Five Fools or something like that.”

  We’ve only been here two days, and I’m already getting tired of having to come up with excuses as to why I can’t drink. Now I’ve got to think of another one. My will is greater than my desire.

  * * *

  Five Fools is a small timeworn bar about five miles outside of Park City. Better to avoid the crowds on Main Street, especially on a holiday weekend. Especially without a bodyguard. As we walk in, I know it is a good choice. There’s an older crowd here, and they look like regulars. Nobody’s on their cells taking pictures. They don’t give a shit that there’s an actor in their presence. That’s good for me. No drinks being sent over and refused. That never ends well. They always think I’m being a prick.

  “Here. This is good,” says Paul.

  He’s picked a table against the wall, as far from the other patrons as possible. “Guinness?”

  “No. I’ve got to run my lines tonight, for Monday’s shoot.”

  He accepts that without another thought. The waitress comes over to take our order. She’s a tired-looking blonde, who I’m sure has been here for decades.

  “A Guinness and a Seven-Up. Thanks,” Paul says.

  She writes our order and leaves without saying a word. I’m not sure she even looked at our faces. How many people has she actually seen in all her years here? She keeps popping her gum, as she slinks away.

  “So what’s this about a party?”

  I take a few moments to formulate my answer. I’ve got to present the idea to him gently.