The Paradise Box Set

by Leslie Pike

  My eyes open, and I return to the present as the night finally let’s go. I’m rewarded with the sight of Steven turning over. Oh yes, that’s the good boy. You’ve got my attention now. Bring me back from my dreary imaginings. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet, and from the look of things he’s been dreaming. Hopefully it’s of me. His beautiful cock is standing straight up in its usual salute to the morning. I keep very still hoping he stays as he is. Don’t turn over! He sighs a soft sleepy sound then his hand reaches out for mine. He knows where to find it. Little brat, he’s awake and knows exactly what he’s doing. He draws my hand to his body and I wrap my fingers around my favorite toy. It’s warm and hard and starts to get me wet at its touch. His sexy green eyes open, and Steven smiles his good morning.

  That was the beginning of a fantabulous day. It may be a later start than I planned, but it was totally worth the delay. Steven soothes the savage beast in me. We all have one, and I’m no exception. His lovemaking is a kind of cure for whatever life throws at me, whether it’s external or internal. He sees past my outward strong shell, past the woman who has it all under control, and notices where I’m most vulnerable. But he doesn’t use what he sees against me in any way. He just becomes my solace. It doesn’t fail to turn me around. I love him, and never has a bride been so sure of her groom.

  “I can’t find my running shoes! Where’d we put them?” He calls from the bedroom.

  “Navy-blue suitcase, in the guest room!” I yell, making sure my voice travels down the hall.

  I continue with the coffee making. God bless the person who invented the Keurig. It was the first thing we unpacked. Today it begins its tour of duty in San Francisco. This and toast will be the extent of any meal preparation I handle for the next six weeks while the first of my series is being shot. This location is going to be my favorite, just because of my history. When they make a move to Ireland, I’ll just be appreciating it from a distance. And what we shoot at the stages in Los Angeles won’t be half as interesting. Everything I might be needed for can be provided via the computer, or cell. New pages can be scanned and sent in the blink of an eye. Just as well. Our wedding is in December, and that’s too close to Ireland’s wrap date. This way I’ll be gloriously free of any other distractions.

  Steven walks in, shoes in hand, looking hotter than should be allowed. His jet-black sunglasses are hooked inside the crewneck of his white T-shirt, and his Nike pants compliment his lean lines. Barefoot, he looks like a model in a GQ beach town photoshoot.

  “I’ll take an omelet with two slices of bacon, lightly buttered toast,” he says as he takes a seat at the kitchen table and works to put on his shoes.

  I go poker faced. “Good,” I say. “It’s on the table. Go ahead and start without me.” I gesture to the empty table.

  He looks at the blank spot and plays along. “Looks delicious.”

  Both of us know the odds of me cooking are slim, especially today.

  “Shouldn’t you be making me breakfast? I’m the one going to work.”

  For a moment he thinks I’m serious, but as soon as he looks at my smirking face he figures it out. “You know I’d make you something if you want. Do you?” he asks.

  “No. I can’t think of food right now. I’m too excited.”

  He gets up, crosses the room and takes me in his arms. “Me too. We’ll meet up later today. I’ve got a few calls to make after my run, then I’ll head over.”

  He gets a peck on the cheek, then I reconsider and give him a proper kiss. “I’m not even sure they want the writer on set. I got the feeling the director would prefer I stay at the production offices.”

  Steven gets an annoyed look on his face. “Fuck Albie. Do what you want. You created this and it’s natural for you to want to see it brought to life. Go. Take lots of pictures.”

  I sigh in satisfaction of this man in front of me. He always says the right things. “That’s what I need, my cheerleader whispering encouragements in my ear. Can I take you in my pocket?”

  I smack him on the ass as he walks to the coffee maker. “Have you heard from anyone?” he asks.

  “Finn’s here. He and his dad came a few days ago. Carl’s staying with family. Don’t know where Esme and Finn landed, but you can be sure it’s not at the hotel. She would have been offered a room as a crew member, but can you imagine if word got out Finn was there? There’d be a stampede of screaming women.”

  We both laugh at the thought of that scene. It’s getting harder and harder for Finn to hold on to any bit of privacy. His star has risen quickly, and he’s becoming as isolated as Jack’s had to be.

  “They must be close by. Is he working?” Steven asks.

  “No. He doesn’t start his film for months.”

  “Maybe I’ll give him a call.”

  Steven catches the surprised and amused look on my face. He knows what I’m thinking and starts laughing.

  “Things you thought you’d never hear,” I say.

  Who knew? My fiancé making plans with my ex? A year ago, Steven wanted to punch Finn and fire him from his picture. Thank goodness he didn’t. Not just because of our friendship, but turns out our Finn turned in such a stellar performance as the hero priest, there’s Oscar buzz. The fact Steven was his director lifted his reputation as well. I’m silently hoping he gets a nomination too. But I haven’t said a word about it, and neither has he.

  He grabs his key and his earbuds. “All right, I’m off. Good luck, babe. Not that you need any.” He comes to me and I get a kiss to send me off.

  “See you on set.”

  Before I walk away, I give him one last look over my shoulder and leave him with the sexiest grin I can muster.

  * * *

  I’ve been on a few movie sets now, but this one’s special. Everything here began with the thought that I wanted to write Finn’s parents, Carl and Mary’s story. That little germ of an idea, a vanity really, started it all. Never did I think it would come to this. All I wanted was to tell an interesting story, and that was the best one I knew. I yearned to say things in a way that connected with people. Maybe they’d see and feel in my characters what they saw and felt in themselves. What sprang from those first brain synapsis has turned into something good, jobs, payrolls and millions of potential viewers for Carl and Mary’s love story. Now it’s out of my hands and into the Director’s and actors, who will take the lion’s share of the praise if it’s a success. So I deflate my head, show my pass to security and walk onto the set.

  Even though I’m realistic about my part in the process, I can’t help the excitement I feel. I want every person that passes to know I’m the writer. I’m sure other writers get past this after a few sales, but right now I want to yell “I wrote this!” I hear the craziness of my thoughts. I’m like the little kid that wants every person at the family Christmas party to pay attention as she sings “Silent Night”, because she’s certain she’ll knock ‘em dead and bring everyone to new spiritual heights.

  Heading toward the Kennedy house takes me past honey wagons, trucks and trailers that dot every movie set. Craft Service is set up to provide our sugar highs, and the crew is getting ready for the first shot of the day. I see faces I’ve seen before and lots of new ones as well. Friendly waves and hellos greet me from the familiar ones, and the others just pass me by. To them I’m just another face in the crowd. But hey, did I tell you I’m the writer?

  I spot Esme coming out of the Wardrobe truck. She hands a few waiting extras some love beads, and then sees me approaching.

  “Hey you!” I say.

  “Bliss!” Her face brightens.

  We hug our hellos, and I smell Finn’s favorite perfume on her neck. I stifle a reaction. You’d think he’d want his women to smell different. Christ man, come on.

  “It’s your big day, huh? Congratulations.” Esme’s sweet smile is sincere and heartfelt. I know she’s confident in her relationship, as she should be. Finn is crazy about her and has proved his allegiance. The fact that I was mar
ried to him means nothing anymore. And that’s why we can be friends. She’s added to our merry group.

  “I’m nervous. Not really sure why, because my contribution is over,” I say.

  “You’re just excited. And you should be. It’s a big deal.” She squeezes my hand in camaraderie.

  “Where’s your man? Is he bringing Carl?” I look around for signs of Finn.

  “He called about fifteen minutes ago. He’s on his way.”

  “What about Kizzy? Is she in there?” I peek into the cavity of the truck, but unless she’s hiding among the rack of flower power bell bottoms or the brightly patterned mini dresses she’s not there.

  “She’ll be back. She had to make a call.”

  “Okay, I’ll catch up with her later. I’ve got to run. I just wanted to say hi and tell you we’re having a little get together on the weekend. I’ll text you the details. Bye, babe.” I give her a little peck on the cheek, and I’m off.

  As I move away I hear her yell. “We’ll be there!”

  When I walk onto the set my eyes sting with tears. The house it looks so much like it did the first time I saw it. Even though these episodes take place from the sixties to the eighties, and I wasn’t on the scene till the nineties, little had changed. When Carl and Mary had moved to Ireland for eight years, they kept the house and his sister Amelia lived in it. When they returned things resumed as if only a day had gone by. They all lived together, and the compound became known as “Camelot” the place where artists and friends gathered. The biggest change was now Finn was in the picture, a beautiful sassy boy with an Irish brogue.

  There are extras and actors wandering around in wardrobe, and it’s taking me back to those first days. His parents never let go of their connection to the sixties, because that’s who they were. Free spirits, artists and above all lovers of love. Their home was a reflection of that aesthetic and their friends old hippies never interested in the latest fashions. They were only modern in their thinking.

  When Finn first brought me here to introduce me to his parents, I was eighteen. I had never experienced this kind of family dynamic, where actual love and kindness existed. It was in many ways a perfect nest to raise a child. Or a child’s girlfriend. I benefited as much as Finn did. It was so easy to see how he became the man he did. His tenderness and compassion for others a direct result of the ideals his parents lived by and expected from him. His creativity and flair for the dramatic were encouraged daily, as Mary and Carl hosted his plays and performances for their friends. For Finn, applause and praise were daily rewards, balanced by high expectations of respect toward the people that paid him that attention.

  I learned what it was like to have a mother and father who cherished their child. And I watched as they blossomed in the others company. As time passed and I became part of the Kennedy family, it was as if I had been born to them. Those scenes play in my mind like they happened yesterday. Twisting Mary’s wedding ring on my right hand, I think about the note she left for me with the gift. Maybe it will bring some magic, it said. And here it is.

  The sound of Finn’s motorcycle snaps me out of my reverie. When I turn around I see him riding onto the set, toward me. His hair is blowing in the wind. He parks the bike behind one of the motorhome’s. I want to laugh because I’m reminded he can park wherever the hell he wants. Even if it’s in the wrong place no one’s going to give him grief. He’ll be gently asked to move it if it’s causing any problems. Otherwise it’ll stay where it is. No Teamster’s going to yell, “Get that out of here! We need to move the motorhome!” Star power becomes second nature very quickly. It’s already happened for Finn.

  I’ve always liked to watch when he walks toward me. It used to be because I found his saunter sexy. Now it’s for a completely different reason. I know the young man in him so well, I can still spot him when he shows up. He may be closing in on forty, but that kid is still very close to the surface. And now that we’re not romantically involved, the things that used to charm me, just amuse me. The curtain has been pulled back and I’ve seen the Wizard. Who knew he was just a man? I’m sure he feels the same about me. All our illusions have been dropped and our chemistry turned into something new. It feels like solid friendship.

  “Hi. Where’s your husband?” Finn asks as he reaches my side.

  I shoot him an evil eye. “That’s nice. No ‘How are you’ or ‘How you doin’ darlin’?”

  He gives me his best little boy face. “I’m sorry, Bliss. How you doin’, darlin’?”

  “Too late. You had your chance to be civil.” I hold out my arm in a mock rejection of his attempt to hug me. “Steven will be here later. Actually, he said he was going to give you a call.”

  His smile slips out at the irony. He has the same expression I had when Steven told me his plan.

  “I thought your dad would be with you,” I say.

  “They’re parkin’. Aunt Amelia’s with him. She wanted to meet BB.”

  “Was she happy about being played by the wild one?”

  “You know Amelia. She thought it was inspired castin’ to have a beautiful, funny, sexy actress with no filter portray her. And when she found out who’s playin’ my dad she freaked out. To use her words, ‘Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?’”

  This makes me laugh because I know Amelia’s not going to hold back when she meets BB or Alec Harris. BB will think it’s funny, but he won’t know what hit him.

  “What about the son? Was she happy about him playing you?” I ask.

  “It hardly registered. She’s got her sights on Alec. He’s closer to her age, not that it matters to her. She always liked them young.” Finn lifts an eyebrow.

  “Unfortunately for her, Alec likes them young too,” I add.

  We’re interrupted when the door to the motorhome swings open, and out steps a wild haired BB, wearing a suede fringed cropped vest, a wide cuff bracelet and huge hooped gold earrings. There’s a sixties bright flowered beach towel wrapped around her lower half. The smell of marijuana escapes the enclosed motorhome and aimlessly floats in the air to where we stand. It’s eleven in the morning, but BB’s getting into character. She looks at Finn, her mouth set in a hard line, and points a bejeweled finger in his direction.

  “Get that fucking loud Hog away from the motorhome. Just because you and my man have a bromance going on doesn’t mean we want to hear that beast every time you come on set. It ruins the mood, baby.” She quickly changes her expression from a scowl to a radiant smile. “Hello, darlings.”

  “Geez, calm yourself, woman. I’ll move it. All you had to do was ask. Don’t be insultin’ my baby,” says Finn

  “Hi, BB. Like your wardrobe,” I say pointing to her towel.

  “You should see the bellbottoms. They’re on the floor somewhere.”

  I see Paul stick his head out the door. He’s without a shirt, and I’d bet the farm he’s missing his pants too.

  Finn starts laughing. “Woman, I’m thinkin’ you’re going to wear his willy down to a nub. Then what would you be doin’?” he jokes.

  “I’d make him wear a strap on.” She turns to Paul. “You’d do that for me, baby, right?”

  Paul’s eyes widen, his face mimicking a deer in headlights.

  Chapter Three

  BB

  Paul’s powerful arms sweep me back into the motor home. He slams the door shut, then rips off my towel. It goes sailing through the air and lands in the kitchen sink. Jimi Hendrix is singing “Foxy Lady” in the background, and I’m feeling the vibe. My man’s playing air guitar in the nude, and he’s using his dick as the instrument. He knows every word and every lick of the song. It’s an outstanding performance worthy of a Grammy. What a creative guy. When he mouths that I’m his little heartbreaker and a sweet love maker, he moves up to the tip of his dick and gives it an extra flick. He’s really getting into it as I watch him bite his lower lip. Makes me want to suck on it right now. First the tip and then more.

  I start dancing freely around the compact
space, a half-naked flower child. The room’s been decorated with authentic 60’s posters from Fillmore West and Winterland, the two famous West Coast music halls of the times. The set decorator was correct to assume I’d like that touch. In my fantasies I’m there now, watching Hendrix make love to his guitar. I’ll be his dancing muse, the inspiration for his sexy anthem.

  We may be stoned, but that won’t stop us. Nothing does. Paul puts down his guitar, then effortlessly lifts me onto the table. He unties my fringed vest and opens it so he can see my breasts. His mouth finds my nipples and he uses his tongue to tease them to hard peaks. I lean back onto my elbows and use my foot to gently push him away. I trace the contours of his impressive muscles, exploring the hills and valleys. Paul’s motif would be one word. Hard.

  When I get close to his scar, I make sure not to linger. It’s been over a year since he was shot, but it still looks raw to me. He says it doesn’t hurt anymore, but I’m not about to test that. The memory of that day is the quickest way for me to lose my lady boner, so I push it out of my mind. Instead, I run a toe around his nipples, teasing him until he wants more.

  That’s when he grabs my ankle. Lifting my foot to his lips, he starts with my toes, planting kisses all the way down to the back of my calf. I feel his warm breath behind my knee, then on the inside of my thigh. He gets within a few inches of my pussy, then pauses to catch my gaze.

  “Here I come, baby. I’m goin’ to get you!” he shouts over the blasting music.

  This man is insatiable. I thought I had an unquenchable sex drive, but I’ve got to admit, Paul matches me fuck for fuck. Maybe it’s because he had a late start. The priesthood hid his light under a burning bushel. Or maybe it’s because of his special physical gift. I’m still amazed at the size of him. He’s completely ruined me for average-sized dicks. Actually, he’s ruined me for the big ones too. The man is in a class of his own.

  I’m vaguely aware Cream’s classic “Sunshine of You Love” has begun filling the room. Yeah that’s right, give it to me baby, till your seas all dry up. His tongue drifts to my sweet spot and I melt with the effect. A little moan escapes my lips. It feels new each time he explores my body. Not one thing he does has become old hat to me. Just that fact sets him apart from past lovers. I’ve always had a short attention span when it comes to men. With Paul, I don’t feel a need for other adventures or new explorers. That’s how fucking good he is.