by Michele Hauf
I thanked him once again, paid the exorbitant bill at the reception desk, then walked back to my car. As I drove off, I thought of all the adjustments this unexpected pet implied. I had to buy dog food, a collar, a leash, a dog bed, food and water bowls... Most importantly, I had to think what the hell to do with him when I left for New York. Taking him to a kennel was the last option. I didn’t want him to leave the house now, not when he needed to start considering it his home.
On a whim, I called Harvey, the contractor, and asked him to recommend a housekeeper, one that could be trusted to take care of my dog for a few days, while I was away. To my delight, he told me his sister was a housekeeper, who currently had an opening in her schedule, and also provided house-sitting services. I had no idea there was such thing as a house sitter, but after Harvey explained and assured me of his sister’s discretion and reliability, I asked him to send her to my house the next day.
That problem hopefully solved, I stopped at a fast food restaurant and ordered some takeout, then made one last stop at the local furniture store, to buy the much-dreamed-of divan I wanted for the front porch. I picked a dozen embroidered cushions as well, left the clerk my address and was promised my divan would be delivered by seven p.m. that evening.
I couldn’t believe how quickly the day had passed, because as I was driving on the dusty road to home, I could see the sun low in the sky, admiring its reflection in the gleaming ocean. Against a backdrop of fire and sky, seagulls fluttered their wings with poetic grace, in a last flight before nightfall. I sighed, gazing wistfully at the breathtaking scenery, and wishing once more Blake was here with me.
The week went by faster than I could have imagined, especially now since I had a companion to help me chase away boredom. In fact, Duke proved to be the best friend I’d ever had, one who didn’t mind when I worked for hours at a time, who waited patiently until I unglued my reddened eyes from the laptop’s screen and remembered to come out of my fictional worlds. He was still a bit too submissive for a dog, but I helped him come out of his shell little by little. In the mornings we took long walks on the beach, frolicked together, then splashed around at the edge of the water until we were both covered in sand. Afterward, we would start all over again, with me laughing in delight and Duke smiling widely, tongue hanging out, furry face glowing with happiness.
His paw healed quickly, and when the bandage came off, the doctor allowed me to bathe my new pal. It was an interesting experience, because although Duke was extremely well-behaved and even stayed out of my flower beds, it turned out he went crazy when he saw soap bubbles. I couldn’t stop giggling as I tried to wash him and he clamped his jaw madly on every cloud of foam, right and left, splashing water all over the bathroom and me. When a bunch of bubbles landed on his nose, I heard him bark for the very first time—a playful and amazingly expressive sound. His childish joy made me so happy I wanted to cry, grateful I could offer him a better life than the one he must have had until now.
In the evenings we sat cuddled together on the front porch, lying decadently on the red and gold divan, like two sheiks straight out of The Arabian Nights, buried among soft cushions. Helped by Harvey and his sister, Mrs. Finch—a domestic miracle on two legs—I had installed rope lights all around the front and the back porch. At night, it was a wondrous sight, as though hundreds of colorful fireflies curled around the railings, rested on the edge of the steps and climbed up the pillars. Lights peeked out from the wisteria tangles, making my house look more fanciful than any fairytale castle.
And the fairytale wasn’t confined to the scenery. To complete my utter state of bliss, Blake called me every night, without fail. No matter how tired he was, he always found a few minutes to phone and see how I was. They’d already built the sets and started shooting. Mark was renowned for driving the actors at a mad pace, but that was one of the things that made him so good at his job.
“If you don’t get here soon,” Blake told me on Thursday night, “I’m afraid you’ll be too late. We only have a few more days to film here, then we move on to a village in Northern California for the second part of the movie.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be there Monday,” I promised, lazily stroking Duke’s ears, as he lay with his heavy head in my lap. “Tomorrow I’m expecting the furniture and appliances, and a few of the guys are coming over to help me put everything in its place. I’ve already booked a flight for Monday at 5 a.m.”
“Ouch! That’s brutal.”
“Tell me about it. But it will be worth the effort,” I said longingly.
“I can’t wait to see you.”
As usual, his husky statement left me a bit breathless. During the past week, he said things like that whenever he called. And every time he did, a small shadow of doubt crept inside me, hissing in my ear like the Serpent to Eve: “Do you really think he means it? He probably says that to all of his lovers.”
“Really?” I asked, not knowing if I was questioning his truthfulness or my own inadequacies.
He seemed taken aback. “Of course I do. Why would you doubt that?”
I shook my head, then let it fall back on the cushions, cursing myself, my lack of confidence, my traumas. Hell, if I wanted him to be honest with me, I had to do the same.
“I don’t know, Blake,” I said finally. “It’s just that... Right before I moved to L.A., I was in a relationship with someone for a year. I caught him in bed with another woman.”
There was a pause. Then he asked softly, “Did you love him?”
“No. But I trusted him, and he betrayed me. It still hurts, the more so because I was oblivious to what was happening right under my nose. He said I was always too busy to really notice him, that I was too involved in my work to care.” I uttered a bitter laugh. “He was right.”
After another short silence he said, “Kendra, loving your work is not something to blame yourself for. I think this guy just wasn’t man enough to make you love him, so he threw the responsibility of your failed relationship at you. Please, don’t step into that pile of bullshit.”
My chest vibrated with sudden laughter. “God, how do you know exactly the right thing to say?”
“I’m just honest. I do have many flaws, as I’ve already told you, but you can always count on my honesty.”
“Thank you. That’s very important to me,” I said seriously, feeling my heart lighter, even though Duke’s hairy weight was moving higher and higher on my chest. “I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Can’t wait. Goodnight.”
I put down the phone with a smile spreading across my face, then settled back deeper into the cushions. As I hugged Duke closer to my chest, I thought of Blake. He was so sensitive, so perceptive, so... perfect. I was becoming more and more addicted to him, and that was dangerous.
As I was packing on Sunday evening, I couldn’t help gaze around again and again at my completely furnished house. The workers and I had slaved nearly a dozen sweaty hours, putting stuff together, moving things around, switching, measuring, until everything was in its place.
I kept wandering through the house, admiring the new, shiny, polished beauty of the furniture and appliances. I was in love with the huge, butter-colored couch in the living room, the cinema-sized flat screen that faced it, the fluffy carpet in warm shades of brown, which Duke seemed to adore. The kitchen was a dream—all butter-colored and glossy, with matching tiles, spiced with a bit of brown and green to lend it the earthy tones I had aimed for.
As for my bedroom, it was perfect too. I now had nightstands, with lamps on them. The glossy vanity on the wall opposite the bed was covered with bottles, jars, jewelry, and all my sparkly, girly stuff, reflected by the generous mirror. As for the walk-in closet near the bathroom, I couldn’t possibly dream of filling all those shelves with clothes and shoe boxes. Still, I was going to give it my best shot.
But right now, all of my clothes were strewn on and around the bed, and I was staring at everything with glazed eyes, wondering what the hell to pack.
It was only a few days, during which I needed to be prepared for any situation: warm weather, cold weather, rainy weather, mildly chilly weather, not to mention I wanted to look stunning for Blake. And I had to manage that in casual clothes, since I wasn’t going to take a Versace gown—even if I’d owned one, which I didn’t—to some castle ruins on a wild, secluded island.
“Okay. Let’s be calm here and think.” I talked as much to myself as to Duke, who was sitting on a good portion of my scattered clothes, watching me curiously. “Jeans,” I said decisively, beginning to rummage through the piles of textiles. “Jeans are fit for every occasion, right? And a few stretchy T-shirts. A cardigan, sneakers, a pair of ballet flats... And underwear. Lots of sexy underwear...”
When I walked into the airport a bit before four a.m., I was running on autopilot. After too little sleep and way too much caffeine, my mind and body were in a state of wired up exhaustion. My skin itched and I was fighting an annoying restlessness, drumming my fingers on every surface available. I finally squeezed myself into my window seat, next to a three-hundred-pound guy who wheezed as though every breath was his last. I thought I was safe in my assumption that things couldn’t possibly get any worse, when five minutes after we were airborne, the guy started snoring. Very loudly. Since earplugs didn’t help, I passed the rest of the time in a superficial doze, fantasizing about bloody, painful, endless ways to kill my companion.
By the time we reached New York, seven agonizing hours later, I would have done it and happily went to jail. One more minute, I thought as I watched the snorer get up awkwardly, and I would have tried that Asian killing method on you, asshole! I didn’t know exactly the point on the temple where, presumably, if you hit a person, you kill him, but I was ready to give it as many tries as I had to.
Tired and heavy-eyed, my body aching all over, I dragged myself and my compact shoulder bag through the airport. The blazing August sun didn’t do anything to improve my headache, even protected as I was by sunglasses. Blake had arranged for a car and chauffeur to pick me up at the airport, and drive me to the east shore of the Hudson River. From there, a boat would take me across to Pollepel Island.
As the boat slid over the dark waters, which now reflected the evening lights and shadows, I stared at the island, fascinated. Bannerman’s castle rose majestically out of the layers of untamed vegetation. It had a lacy structure, and I was sad to notice only part of the exterior walls were still standing, battered and scarred by time. Through every window opening and crack in the ruins, I could see the sky, and the sunrays filtered at random angles. It was a spectacular sight. It kept my attention captive even as I thanked the boatman and let him help me out of the craft. Only when the sound of the engine began to fade did I turn to look after him, then gazed around at the wilderness surrounding me. The castle ruins were farther inland than I thought, on a steep terrain covered by an abundant flora.
Resigned, I began walking up the path that led to the edifice. I glanced at my watch, but remembered the time difference and gave up, feeling too tired to calculate the hour. It was mid afternoon and hotter than hell. My clothes clung to me, sweat crawling down my back, and let’s not mention the unbearable humidity. Birds chirped gaily around me, hidden among trees and shrubs. When I had to dodge a mosquito as big as a baseball, I started to feel a bit uneasy. Where the hell was everyone? One would have no clue a movie was being filmed on this God forsaken island right now. Where were the vans, the trailers, the people? And for that matter, where was the fucking castle?
Just as I was wondering this I spotted it, peeking from behind the curtain of foliage—the castle, and next to it, a settlement that consisted of a few vans and... tents.
“Tents?” I said incredulously, my voice sounding loud and strange in the deserted paradise. “We’re camping here? You’ve got to be kidding me!”
18
I’d never been a happy camper. I loved nature and exotic places, as long as they came with room service and Internet. This was not at all what I was expecting. With a heavy heart, I dragged my feet forward. My disappointment faded a little as I approached the sumptuous stairs covered by grass and moss, and looked up at the ruins. The castle—which had been in fact a military warehouse built by a Scotsman named Bannerman—was less than a hundred years old, but to me it seemed ancient. It was still an incredible tribute to history, especially because of ‘its ironic fate’.
According to my research, Bannerman had been a merchant who’d made his fortune by selling guns of all sorts. His business expanded so much that his storeroom in New York City was not large enough to provide a safe location to store thirty million surplus munitions cartridges. So in the spring of 1901 he began to build an arsenal on Pollepel, but construction ceased in 1918 when Bannerman died. Unfortunately, in 1920, two hundred tons of shells and powder exploded in an ancillary structure, destroying a portion of the complex. And to further feed the idea of bad luck, in August 1969, fire devastated the Arsenal, and the roofs and floors were destroyed.
So now I was staring up at what was left of Bannerman’s dream, wondering if the film crew and I would be the next to make the news regarding Pollepel’s Island, if the ruins would collapse in on us.
“Who the hell are you? You’re not supposed to be here,” an irritated Brooklyn voice demanded from behind me.
When I turned around, I saw a girl in her mid-twenties emerging from one of the vans and walking toward me. She wore shimmery, green and blue pants, which matched her long hair.
“I’m Kendra Kensington,” I said, trying not to stare at her large braless breasts, visible under the white top. “I’m the script writer and consultant.”
“Oh, yeah, Mark said you’d be here.” Her face brightened and she grabbed my hand. “I’m Denise, the makeup artist. Come on, I’ll take you to the set. They’re shooting, so you need to be very quiet.”
I let her drag me up the dusty, crumbly stairs, feeling my heart thump in nervous excitement. I barely had time to notice details of the ruins around me, before Denise ushered me into a space jam-packed with at least twenty people, and possibly a hundred pounds of electronic equipment.
“Make sure you don’t step over a cable, and try not to touch anything. I need to get something from the van, but I’ll be back in a sec,” Denise whispered into my ear before vanishing into the crowd.
I remained near the entrance, barely breathing, looking around in awe at all the people and machinery. At first glance it all seemed a muted mess, but as I watched, I noticed each person had a clear, well-defined role in this movie-making process. I recognized Mark by his dreads. He was standing with his back to me and silently making strange hand-gestures. The well-trained crew obeyed him, cameras moved slowly around to focus on a wide bed, where Blake and Sandra were locked in a passionate embrace.
My mind knew this was only acting, of course. But the instant I saw them together, half-naked, kissing and caressing one another, a jolt of pain ran straight through my heart. In that moment I was unable to tell the difference between reality and make-believe. It was Richard and the blonde all over again, only a million times worse now, because it wasn’t only my pride that was taking a hit. I wouldn’t have felt this much pain unless my feelings for Blake were deeper than I’d realized. Seeing him with another woman was a knife through my soul.
“Cut! Beautiful, that’s the one. Well done, kids!”
Mark’s booming voice jarred me out of my inner torture, and only now did I realize I’d moved closer to the set. I was just a few yards away from the bed with sensually disheveled sheets.
At Mark’s words, Blake rose immediately from on top of Sandra and headed toward one side of the bed, where a girl rushed to give him a robe. He donned it quickly, but not before I could see he was sporting an erection under the black cotton of his boxers. This bitter discovery made me ache even more than all the kissing and groping I’d just witnessed. This was proof he wasn’t only acting. He’d wanted her.
Swallowing the knot in my throat
, I was about to turn away, when Mark spotted me.
“Hey, Kendra!” His delighted shout reverberated through the entire structure, shaking the dust around us. As he walked toward me, a broad, sparkling smile spread across his face. Before I knew it, he was lifting and twirling me in a bear hug, shouting to the crew, “This is the genius, guys! This gal here is our writer, Kendra Kensington. Welcome, baby,” he said when he finally put me down and kissed both of my cheeks, which were flaming as everyone around us applauded and cheered. I was in the middle of the action alright, but I didn’t know yet if being in the limelight made me proud or embarrassed.
“I’m so glad you joined us,” Mark went on. “I can’t wait to show ya what I’m doin’ with your brilliant idea. In fact, I’m gonna take you out to dinner right now. What you say?”
His exuberance made my head spin. Exhausted as I was, I only wanted to sleep. I’d never been a sociable type, and the multitude of eyes that watched me curiously made me too aware of my tired face, not to mention my wrinkled jeans and T-shirt.
I was about to decline nicely when I heard Blake’s deep voice from my left.
“Actually, Mark, I need to talk to Kendra about the script as soon as possible.”
Mark’s eyebrows arched in what I could swear was irritation.
“If you got a problem with the script, you talk to me.”
“It’s not a problem,” Blake replied calmly. “I only have a few suggestions and I want to run them by her first. Hi, Kendra,” he told me casually. “We’re glad to have you here.”
I hadn’t looked at him until now, but I was forced to turn my head and acknowledge him. God, his gorgeous gray eyes were even more breathtaking than I remembered! He was sunburned and his face was covered by a week’s beard. This made him look tougher, more rugged and outdoorsy, just the way I’d depicted Hunter, the character he was playing.