Breaking Character

by Maggie Twain

  But he can’t because I won’t let him. He’s a mean man.

  Oh, but he has such perfect masculine features and symmetry. A chest I want to rest my head on and brown hair I’d like to run my fingers through. Why is it that the world is so unfair that it must waste such beautiful manly looks on a guy like this? He takes a small step forward. “Is there something you’d like to say to me?”

  I gasp a sharp inhalation of air. The cheek of it. “Surely, you don’t mean…”

  “You’ve destroyed a valuable prop, inconvenienced the cleaners and set back a quarter billion dollar drinks operation.” He dares come even closer and for a moment I assume he’s about to reach out to hold me in place and when he doesn’t I’m almost disappointed. Almost. “I think that at the very least, your reckless and ill-thought-out actions merit an apology.”

  What planet is he even living on? And what’s he talking about, drinks operation?

  “I will not apologize.” I take a step away from the idiot. “If there’s anyone who ought to be apologizing around here, it’s you.”

  “Me?” His head jerks back. “What do I have to apologize for? I’m the victim here.”

  My mouth plunges wide open at this latest proof as to his idiocy. “Hmm, let’s see, you were about to start beating up on my friend.”

  For a flash, there’s only confusion on his face, but then something clicks in his little brain and he tips back to commence laughing. Obviously, I’m enraged by this. “So, you know the little rascal?”

  My voice softens. “You might say that.”

  “Then perhaps you can tell me what a man should do when he catches your friend in bed with one of his mistresses?” He actually said it with a completely straight face, which is the truly bizarre thing. I bet he’s just like that producer Bret, they all have harems these Hollywood types.

  I rub at my face. “I’m sorry, you caught Jimmy in bed with one of your mistresses?” I repeat in monotone before giving myself a pinch. I’m definitely awake. Though I’m honestly not sure where I can even begin here. This just has to be a mistake. I need to speak to Jimmy. Fast. I mean, he’d have told me. Surely. My head’s a blur. “So, you’re definitely not going to apologize?”

  He then astonishes me by placing his hands on my shoulders. “Mel, I will not apologize for something I would do a million times over.”

  I can almost feel my head wilting towards his hand, but I fight the urge. “You would beat Jimmy a million times over,” I growl instead.

  “No.” He shakes his head and gazes at me with the most profound and intense eyes I’ve ever seen, in fact, they’re almost mesmerizing. “I would shower in your cooking every day if it meant we could be together.” He clamps his eyes shut and has to shake something away, then his hands are gone from my shoulders. “Your job is safe. Be back at the distillery tomorrow and we shall talk some more.” He touches his hat, takes a withering look at me and strides away.

  Well, that was truly a perplexing and baffling experience and I can only stand in silence, stunned, as one of the world’s most famous men climbs into his car and rolls away. Where are my court documents?

  “I’ve not seen a man look at me that way since the day I met Jonah.” It’s a surprise to hear my aunty so close, when did she creep up from behind? “He’s saved your job then?”

  “And … I guess … the diner by extension,” I mutter before exhaling a large breath of exasperated air.

  And, at least I think, all he wants in return is for me to become one of his mistresses.

  Six

  Max

  “Cut!” The director shouts. “That’s a wrap for the day.” He scowls at me as I trudge off set and I know exactly what he’s thinking.

  I sucked today. Sucked real bad. And now we’re even further behind schedule than before.

  Jonny digs me in the ribs as we head for our trailers. “Damn, I thought you had it on that twelfth take … I honestly wasn’t prepared for another fifteen. I’m gonna be bruised all over come tomorrow.”

  “You’ll live,” I snarl.

  “Easy for you to say, Arthur, you’ve not spent all day getting whipped by a leather belt. That brass buckle begins to sting after a bit.” He rubs his arm. “Truth be told, I was beginning to wonder if you’re some kind of a sadist.”

  I turn in on him. “And so what if I am?”

  He has no response to that so he just shrugs and splits off to the left, “see you tomorrow,” he says before glancing once or twice over a shoulder as he stumps away.

  The truth is that I’m finding it hard to concentrate on my work. I keep fluffing lines, forgetting who I’m supposed to be, and once I even looked into the camera. I’ve never done that before.

  Mel, what have you done to this gangster?

  We’ve been so busy, being behind schedule, that I never had a chance to go to her, not even for a few minutes. Danny brought my lunch and I had ten minutes to eat before I had to again take the belt to that son-of-a-bitch.

  I just can’t shake her image from my mind.

  Even as I was driving over to that diner, I still thought that she couldn’t truly be so perfect as I had imagined in that split-second that changed everything. Surely, it had to have been a trick of my mind, a flash of light before my vision dissolved.

  Wrong.

  She was everything that wonderful flash had promised. No, up close, she’s even better, even more perfect, if that’s even possible. And what’s more is that she takes no shit, not even from one of the most feared bootleggers in America. The way she stood up to me … nobody has ever stood up to me like that. Men of all sizes buckle before me, women wilt in my presence.

  Not Melissa though.

  Melissa would not back down, she spoke back, held her ground, refused to apologize and finally, expected me to say sorry to her.

  The fucking cheek of it!

  And I absolutely loved it!

  Melissa, we’ll see if you’re still so forthright and impudent when I have you bent over the couch and I’m hammering you from behind.

  But it’s not merely her defiance that I can’t stop thinking about because she also just happens to be the most breathtakingly beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. The way she looks in that tight little waitress outfit. I hadn’t been prepared for that. Her tiny frame, plump hips and ass, as well as the way she appears so vulnerable and ripe for abuse, even though I know she can hold her own, even against me. Finally, it’s that fucking long red hair that I just want to grab ahold of as I smash her pussy from behind.

  Mel, what are you doing to me?

  I enter my trailer, take a second to glance around at the empty space and collapse into my recliner. This piece of junk cost me over a million bucks, it’s large and beyond luxurious but I have nobody to share it with.

  My arm aches after spending the day whipping Jonny. What a waste of effort and energy when I should be whipping her. I think about calling the masseuse but don’t. I should probably eat but can’t. I should probably learn my lines but nothing would sink in. For the thousandth time today, Mel forces her way back to clarity until I decide I have absolutely no choice…

  I must go to her.

  There’s a knock at the door, whoever it is doesn’t wait to be permitted entrance and then Olivia’s stepping inside my trailer. I have to quickly readjust how I’m sitting to hide the obscene bulge in my pants.

  “Hey,” she’s looking every bit the 1930s madam in satin evening gown and shoulder pads beneath black fur coat, “I just want you to know that you should ignore everything they're saying. I think you did great out there today.”

  I clear my throat. “What are you doing here?”

  Her head tilts. She’s confused. “Maybe you are losing your mojo, Arty, we’re supposed to be hooking up, you and I.” Fuck! Now I remember.

  She sits on the recliner opposite and crosses one leg over the other, trying to look seductive, which she does with ease because she’s Olivia fucking Owens. She leans forward suddenly and now
her hand is moving up my leg. “Your agent was babbling something about the marketing budget.”

  I swallow. Where is he? “That’s right, we need the free publicity, so Dangerfield wants us to pretend we’re seeing each other.”

  Her hand’s still moving ever so slowly up my leg. “Why, Arty, pretending is what we do for a living.” Her hand stops a few inches from where my already straining manhood is trapped in my pants, halfway down my thigh. “But I won’t tell if you don’t.”

  Marketing budget, marketing budget, marketing budget.

  There’s absolutely no misinterpreting her intentions but there’s only one girl I’m thinking of right now, and probably for the rest of my life. I cough and have to jerk her hand off me. “My agent is arranging a photographer and some interviews so I’ll let you know when it’s time to turn on the magic.” I stand and pull on my hat. “Now, if you’d excuse me, but I must be somewhere else.”

  She takes it better than I expected, but then she’s a great actress and there’s no knowing what’s going on inside her head. I realize, as I show her to the door, that I’m probably the only man in her life who’s turned her down. Certainly, I’m the only man who’s ever said no to her offer of free sex with no strings attached.

  I still have the keys to one of the four-wheeled props and nobody dares question the star of the show when he decides to take it out for a spin. They know better than to do that. Old cars are different to modern vehicles. They’re infinitely classier, more stylish and aesthetic, even if the thing handles like a tank and the ride’s bumpy as hell.

  Five minutes later, I’m pulling up outside her diner, uncharacteristically nervous for either Arthur or that other guy I sometimes assume, and then I’m entering the establishment. There’s only that older woman here, leaning against the bar top whilst doing a crossword puzzle. I guess business ain’t going too well.

  It takes her a while to look up. “Oh, hello,” she says, “do you have some papers for me?”

  My eyebrows pull together. “What papers?”

  Her head jerks back and her expression changes almost to a smile. “Then how may I help you?”

  I straighten and attempt to smile but find it too difficult. “I’m here to see Mel.”

  “You have papers for her?”

  I slam an opened palm against the bar. “There’s no god-damned papers.”

  Her face clenches. “That’s no way to earn my cooperation.”

  I take a breath to calm myself and figure these two women must be related. “I’m sorry,” I try my hardest to sound reasonable, “what will it take for you to tell Mel that I’ve come to see her?”

  She considers me for a few seconds and I’m not sure what she’s thinking. “She’s been working all day, in fact, she’s been working very hard these last few days, and now she’s relaxing. She needs her rest and your presence will only vex her.”

  She’s relaxing? I would vex her? These are the reasons I’m unable to soothe my aching soul? Yeah, they’re definitely related, no doubt about it.

  I’m about to lose my temper and demand that Mel be brought to me when my eyes glaze over and refocus on something behind this older woman, attached to the wall beside the coffee machine. It's a sign that says simply, ‘Vacancies Here.’

  I decide to take a chance. “How much for a room?”

  Seven

  Mel

  I was disappointed today.

  Max had told me he would come to see me and so I’d made an effort with my makeup, spent the entirety of the day on tenterhooks, keeping a constant watch of every face who came to eat but there was no sign of Max.

  I know I shouldn’t be disappointed because he’s awful but I can’t help it.

  What had he told me? That he would shower in my cooking every day if it meant we could be together?

  Words. Just words.

  And the words of a great actor.

  Meaningless.

  And I feel so silly for getting my hopes up.

  Well, at least he got me my job back, I do have that to thank him for, even if it was he who’d endangered it in the first place.

  I’m in the living room and begin flicking through a stack of DVDs. Honestly, it’s quite by accident that Rampage in Harlem, starring Max Falcon, just happens to drop out from the pile. I stick it in the player and begin watching.

  Immediately, I can tell it has a huge budget and the CGI is incredible. It’s about an army of futuristic super-soldiers marauding their way through New York City and Max plays an injured special forces soldier who’s forced to come back to work in order to lead the fightback. Now, he’s in a hand-to-hand fight against one of the enemy leaders and after having his jacket vaporized, he’s having to battle topless.

  I can feel my eyes widen of their own accord because he’s absolutely dreamy, whichever personal trainer he used to get into shape for the role did a number on that physique.

  “Good evening,” it’s the same voice but it doesn’t quite fit the scene and then I turn to find Max standing there in the threshold.

  I quickly pause the DVD. “What the…?”

  He’s grinning at something and then I notice his eyes flick across to the TV and the large set of flexing pectorals that’s filling the screen. The side of his mouth slowly curls upwards. He doesn’t even need to say anything, he caught me, but I bet he will anyway. “How about we just take this to the bedroom?” Ugh. “Come on, Mel, don’t pretend you’re not thinking about it.”

  This is so much worse than what he was about to do to my friend and I feel an overwhelming urge to run for the window before smashing through it and coming to land flat as a pancake two stories down. Futilely, I fumble with the remote in a furious effort to turn the screen off, even though I’m too late because the awful damage is already done. I screech, “what are you even doing here?” Fumble, fumble, fumble. Turn off, damn it.

  “Here, let me,” he reaches for my hand and easily takes the control from my deathly grip, his hands are sooooooo large and calloused and to feel his touch is beyond thrilling, “it’s this big button at the top, right here, see?” He presses it and the screen goes black. Great, now it’s just him and me in a silent room. And he’s grinning again.

  “Well?” Oh, I’m flushing all kinds of bright colors. “Aren’t you going to tell me what you’re doing in my apartment?” Technically, it’s not really my apartment, it's the communal area for all the guests, even though I’m the only patron there’s been these past six months. It feels like I’m being intruded upon nonetheless.

  He puts his arm around me in a way that feels both comforting and devastating in equal measure. “Mel,” again, he unleashes a beautiful yet infuriating grin, “it looks like we’re roomies.”

  I throw his arm off. “My aunt would never…” Actually, now that I come to think about it, she almost certainly would. This guy’s a charmer, we need the money and seeing me hooked up and living a happy life with a man like this would make my aunt very, very happy indeed. Still, I find it impossible to believe because it’s just so preposterous, and yet here he is. “Aunt Dot!” Finally, I see the traitor loitering out in the gloom that is the corridor.

  She comes plodding inside holding a wad of notes in a limp hand. It’s already too late when she realizes I’ve seen them and she stuffs them in her pocket. “I’m sorry, dear, but, you know…” she shrugs and walks out and the grin on Max’s face is larger than ever.

  He coughs into a closed fist. “So, we were talking about moving things into the bedroom…”

  I attempt to shove him away but he proves completely immovable, in fact, I’m the one who ends up scooting back by several feet. “Perhaps you didn’t learn your lesson the first time?” I frantically scan the room for any leftover food, yogurt pots or even a half-drunk cup of coffee but there’s nothing. He’s still that same bully man from before and I refuse to have anything to do with him, at least not until he sees the error of his ways, and he can prove that by first apologizing for his actions. “Isn�
��t there something you have to say to me?” I again step up to him and have to tilt back my head considerably. “And after you’ve done that, you can say you’re sorry to Jimmy too.”

  He’s having too much fun and I hate it. “I cannot apologize for something I’m not sorry about and yes, I certainly will be having words with Jimmy if I ever see him again.”

  I gasp. What does he mean by that?

  It’s only now that I realize I’m cut off from the door, because there’s an extremely large man standing in front of it, and that extremely large man now very slowly and deliberately turns to close it. The clink it makes as the lock snaps into its mechanism is deafening and I can’t quite seem to figure out if I’m horrified or more excited than I’ve ever been in my entire life.

  I’m alone in a small room with Max Falcon. And, um, apparently he now lives with us.

  His grin’s gone suddenly, replaced instead by something else entirely, like he wants to settle our old score, though how he wants to do that I can’t say. He slowly reaches up for his hat and removes it from his stupid head to display those floppy brown locks I want to rub my face in. He steps forward and says in the deepest voice I’ve ever heard, “there’s no food now, no security to drag you away and there’s certainly no escaping.”

  My heart flutters like I’ve never known it.

  He takes another step closer so that if he chose to reach out he could take me. “Just tell me to leave, Mel, and I promise you’ll never see me again.”

  The moment he says those words, I know that’s not what I want at all and I close the gap for us both, jump upon him and then my arms are around his neck, my legs are wrapped around his hips and I force my lips onto his.

  Immediately, I feel his hands beneath my ass, effortlessly taking my weight as his fingers sink into my flesh. Our lips smush hard together as our tongues clash and my hands explore his hair. I feel so small against him like this, so protected, and the way he kisses me makes me feel so wanted. I’m floating backwards and then I feel my back pinned against the wall and I tighten my grip around him with my legs in a forlorn attempt at driving him inside of me. I ache for him and cannot stop myself from working my hips against him in a way that makes him groan. If ever I was unsure that he wanted me then there’s no mistaking that agonized hum he makes into my mouth. It’s almost too much to take and this all happened so unexpectedly fast that I’d forgotten how much I hate this man, I think, and I unhook my ankles, allowing my legs to fall so that I’m separating myself from him.