by Michele Hauf
“Bet they already are. They saw us leave together yesterday, so they must have guessed you spent the night with me. If you’re not sure about this, it’s not too late to change your mind.” He said it in a humorous tone, but underneath, his voice reflected my own nervousness and the uneasy feeling I actually might change my mind.
“Never.” I squeezed his hand tighter, huffing a bit as we climbed the hill toward the castle ruins.
As they came into sight, I stopped to admire the spectacular tableau of rock and sunrise.
“God, this is so gorgeous,” I whispered, looking up. “I mean, when it comes right down to it, it’s nothing more than the crumbled walls of an old castle. But...”
“It’s more than that,” Blake finished, his mouth touched by a smile. “In the same way a diamond is more than just a rock, a song is more than just sound, and so on. There aren’t many people able to see the beauty in all those things. I’m glad you’re part of the special ones,” he said, lifting my fingers to his lips.
We came across Denise and another girl, who were climbing out of one of the vans that were part of the campsite. The way their jaws hung when they saw us was wildly hilarious, but I managed not to burst out laughing. They stared, gaping, at Blake and I, as we headed toward them, hands firmly clasped.
Denise was the first one to recover, pushing her shiny, green-and-blue hair away from her forehead.
“Good morning, Blake, Kendra,” she said almost reverentially, as if addressing royalty.
“Morning, Denise, Jennie,” Blake replied cheerfully, then he turned to me. “Jennie is our wardrobe magician. She’s done an impressive job, especially with the Countess’s gowns. Jennie, this is Kendra Kensington, who you probably met yesterday. She’s the genius who wrote The Diary.”
Jennie was a plump girl with round, blue eyes and short blonde hair arranged in spikes. She blushed a little when I shook her hand and told her it was nice to meet her.
“I didn’t have the chance to meet everyone in person yesterday,” I added with a warm smile, “but I plan to rectify that today. It’s amazing to be here, to see how the movie is actually being made.”
“Oh, you’ll love it,” Denise assured me enthusiastically. “It’s mostly routine work for us, but when you get to watch the final product, to know you were a part of that, even a small one, and helped make it happen... It’s beyond awesome! It must be even more amazing for you, since you came up with the whole idea—which, by the way, is incredible.”
“Thanks,” I said pleased, despite the little twinge of doubt that made me wonder if she was sucking up to me because I was Blake Tyler’s lover. “I can’t wait to... well, see everything. So, what happens first?”
“First we’re gonna take Mister Tyler here and do his makeup, dress him up, then we’ll wait for Sandra, who’s always late, and then we listen to Mark bitching at her and...”
“Denise!” Jennie admonished her friend, giving her an emphatic nudge.
“What? I’m only telling Kendra how things go. She asked,” Denise answered with an unrepentant grin.
Blake laughed, urging all three of us toward a large tent.
“Come on, ladies, walk and talk, or Mark’s going to bitch at me this morning instead of Sandra.”
The atmosphere on the set wasn’t at all what I’d expected. Everyone was friendly, not staying in shadows watching and whispering among themselves, as I’d feared they would. Subtly but firmly, Blake made it clear to all that he and I were a couple, so maybe that was why I was treated like the Queen of Sheba. Mark frowned a little when he saw Blake giving me a quick kiss as they were preparing to start shooting, but he said nothing. His jovial nature asserted itself, and after all, Blake was the star. Besides, as Denise whispered to me during a break, ‘everyone screws everyone’ during the making of a film, so relationships on the set were nothing unusual.
Another surprise was Sandra, who’d dyed her hair red to play Serena. She proved not only to be a good actress, but was very friendly toward me. We bonded quickly, which was a relief to me and made me feel badly for misjudging her the first time we’d met. She wasn’t very bright, but she was funny and vivacious, always careful to include me in conversations and make me feel as though we were the best of friends.
Mark kept a tight schedule, so there wasn’t much time for chatting. I watched fascinated as they filmed take after take, sometimes repeating the same scene more than a dozen times, until Mark was satisfied. There were a few hilarious moments, like the one where Hunter and Serena—Blake’s and Sandra’s characters—were having breakfast. After dusting her hands of crumbs, Sandra got to her feet and said, “Come on, let’s dish those washes.”
She realized her mistake at the same time the entire room exploded with laughter and giggles. Blake was the one to laugh the hardest, and Sandra threw a biscuit at his head, chagrined.
“Oh, up yours! If we have to film this scene one more time, I’ll reinvent the freaking English Dictionary.”
“Hey, at least you didn’t say you were a shicken shit this time!” shouted Guy, the assistant director, receiving a stiff middle finger for his remark. “Okay, settle down everyone. Let’s start over.”
During a short break, Sandra came to talk to me, while Denise fussed around her, redoing her makeup.
“So, where’s Mister Hot-Pants?” she asked me, glancing around after Blake. “Abandoned you already?”
“He’s gone to the john.”
“That man is seriously into you. It’s the first time I’ve seen him with a woman in public. Never took him for a test drive myself, but you can just tell he’s combustible,” she said, winking to Denise, who grinned back, wiggling her eyebrows.
I tried to display an enigmatic smile, but I guess the smile that illuminated my face was a dead giveaway, since it made both women nod knowingly. Sandra winked at me conspiratorially.
“And to think there are some who said he was gay. But this is Hollywood, hun. If you’re showing up with too many arm-pieces, you’re a womanizer. If you don’t, you’re gay. If you’re a woman and you’ve got yourself a boy-toy, you’re a whore. If not, you’re a lesbo.”
“I wonder what they’d write about you and Mark,” murmured Denise, dusting powder over Sandra’s nose.
I felt my eyes rounding. “You’re with Mark?” I asked in a whisper.
“Mm-hmm. Well, I’m doing Mark, to put it more accurately,” Sandra said.
“Since when?” I asked, leaning forward.
“A couple of months. Actually, since we met that night, when we all had dinner and talked about the script, remember?” She frowned, as though struck by a thought. “Come to think of it, two months is kind of a record for me. But he’s just too damn good in bed.”
“Really?” asked Denise, excited to be included in this very intimate conversation.
“Honey, trust me, you haven’t lived until you’ve ridden a black cock,” replied Sandra emphatically. “Ooops, sorry, I guess that wasn’t politically correct. I mean to say ‘until you’ve shagged an African-American’,” she perfectly mimicked Marie Bell’s British accent, making Denise and I collapse into fits of giggles. “Like I mind when people call me a white skinny bitch.”
She was so unashamedly uninhibited you couldn’t help liking her. I guessed the reason her personality had remained concealed during that dinner was because she was assessing Mark, or maybe she even had a shy side.
“Talking shop, ladies?” Blake asked, coming behind me and beginning to rub my neck and shoulders.
“I was just telling your girlfriend the Hollywood facts of life,” Sandra informed him, wiggling her reddish eyebrows at me.
“God help us. Kendra, don’t listen to a word she says. She’s dangerous,” joked Blake, bending to kiss the top of my head. “I’ll be right back.”
Sandra’s blue eyes narrowed.
“That was the wrong thing to say, Mister Heartthrob. Denise, get me some garlic. The real thing, not garlic powder.”
“G
arlic? Where the hell do I get that? And why?”
Sandra’s lips stretched in a slow, diabolical smile.
“Mister Tyler and I have some kissy-kissy scenes later today. I’ll show him how dangerous I am.”
“You should have seen your face,” I said, laughing so hard my stomach ached. “It was a death-bed grimace!”
“Yeah, well, she tasted like Christmas sausage with too much garlic,” Blake replied, holding my waist and laughing himself, as we walked along the shore late that evening.
The fragrant night was descending around us, and everything was gilded in surreal silver light. The moon was unusually large, round and pale, making the landscape come alive. It was as though we were walking in another world, although it was the same one, but completely different from what the sunlight revealed during the day. Now the shadows were deep, the shapes were sharper, the trees longer. Insects buzzed around us, their chatter growing faint as we approached the edge of the water. Its dark surface seemed impenetrable, but where the moonlight caressed it, it looked as though a portal might be hovering there, waiting, hiding secrets beyond the glimmering stillness.
“It’s so beautiful here,” I whispered, linking my fingers with Blake’s, as we stopped to gaze across the water at the incredible lights of New York City. “I almost don’t want to get back home. Well, not yet, anyway. But I miss my little fairytale corner. Oh, I haven’t shown you my divan. And Duke!”
Hastily, I fished my phone out of my pocket and began showing him pictures, acquainting him with the novelties of the past week.
“Wow!” He admired the photos I’d taken at night on the porch. Duke was sprawled on the divan, the colored lights winking and sparkling around him. In the semi-darkness, his eyes were two glowing gems, and his black fur had a healthy sheen.
“He’s awesome,” Blake said, touching the screen to enlarge the picture. “Some wolf in there, definitely. And this setting is amazing,” he went on, circling his finger around the screen. Then he turned his head slightly. Since we were sitting close together, our mouths nearly touched when he whispered, “I can’t wait to make love to you there.”
The evocative sound of his voice and the image it conjured up made a shiver of excitement run through me. I tasted his tongue, as he slipped an arm around me and drew me closer. It never ceased to amaze me how powerful this chemistry we had was, this endless passion that seemed new every time we touched. I knew our relationship was just budding, but I hoped the desire that united us would never fade.
At the moment, there wasn’t the slightest danger of that. Blake gently pushed me a few steps backward, until my back met a solid tree trunk. Our kisses steamed up the already sultry summer night. His mouth and hands were demanding and fulfilling, moving over me with delicious familiarity. A gasp escaped my lips when he slid the wavy skirt of my dress up and pressed himself flush between my bare thighs.
“What are you doing?” I whispered in his ear.
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
“But... We can’t. Not here. What if someone finds us?”
Despite my weak protest, I was already fumbling with the snap on his jeans, desperate to have him inside me, no matter what.
Because I hadn’t realized I was still clutching my phone in one hand, I jumped when it rang loudly. With a giggle, I pressed a hand to my heart and looked at the display.
“Oh, it’s Mrs. Finch. I have to answer,” I told Blake.
“So answer.”
I’d already done so, before I discovered Blake had no intention of stopping what he was doing. It was a miracle my voice sounded almost normal as I said into the phone, “Hello, Mrs. Finch. How are you doing? How is Duke?”
“Oh, we’re just fine, dear. We visited my neighbor today, Ms. Bloodworth. She has two Labradors, Muddy and Fuzzy. Duke played with them all day long. They’re the sweetest girls, so friendly and playful.”
Since Blake had worked the straps of my dress down my shoulders and was kissing my breasts seductively, my mind was foggy.
“Did you say girls?” I managed to ask Mrs. Finch. “I hope you watched them carefully. I’m too young to have grandkids. We... all need to be responsible.”
My voice was breathless, but I couldn’t help it. I kept making desperate faces at Blake, but he ignored me. My eyes and mouth widened when he slid my panties down.
Mrs. Finch was saying, “...no need to worry, dear. Both girls are fixed. I bet they like Duke though, since he’s such a handsome, strong...”
I tuned her off and sank my teeth into my own palm so I wouldn’t scream. Blake had unbuttoned his jeans and was separating my thighs again. In the moonlight, I could see very clearly the wicked glint in his eyes, as well as the burning hunger.
“I have to go now, Mrs. Finch,” I said huskily into the phone. “I’m glad all is well, thank you so much. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
The second I disconnected and let my phone drop down on the grass, Blake lifted my hips and thrust into me. The sound I made was half laugh, half moan. Drunk with pleasure, I wrapped my legs around his waist and held on tight. Our hips rocked in an erotic, quickening rhythm, creating a delirious friction. Our bodies were taut, sleek with sweat, our breathing as fast as the motions of our hungry bodies. In that moment we truly became one, gasps and shudders melded in the secretive darkness, while the stars spun and exploded above us.
20
The end of the following week was upon us before we knew it. The cast and crew worked hard every day, and I took my consulting job seriously. At close inspection, we discovered a few minor flaws in the script, some things that weren’t consistent throughout the story. While fixing them, we also made several changes in the dialogue. Mark was one of those directors who preferred leaving the actors liberty to express themselves and make up their own lines as they went. Probably it was one of the reasons his movies were so good, because dialogue is the most important part of human interaction, and when it comes naturally, the viewer can identify himself with the characters easier.
Marie Bell was also working hard, ever present to observe, criticize and generally spice up the atmosphere with her haughty attitude and British-isms. As I sat next to her that morning, the discussion revolved around her offering me a cameo.
“I like to help make movies from behind the scenes, not in front of the camera, Marie. Besides, I’m already in the public eye, much more than I’d like to be,” I said, indicating the stack of newspapers and magazines scattered on a chair beside us.
Obviously, someone on the set had chirped, so now my face and Blake’s were all over the front pages of the tabloids. I had no idea who the traitor was, but it didn’t really matter. It would have happened sooner rather than later. What astonished me the most was the amount of tireless news and speculation our relationship was generating. I was only beginning to grasp how famous Blake was, and how many people around the world were avidly interested in what went on in his life. At times I found it flattering, but there were moments when all this attention creeped me out. I was starting to understand what being stalked was like.
Next to me, Marie lit a cigarette, then flicked the lighter closed with one long, red nail.
“Oh, knock it off, darling,” she said, blowing out smoke. “This is the life of a movie star. It’s a small price to pay for snagging a man like Blake, don’t you think?”
I was about to reply, when something caught Marie’s attention. “Cut!” she yelled. “What the hell is this? Lena, you’re supposed to look bloody sinister. You’re supposed to be a sick, twisted bitch who bathes in virgin’s blood, remember? Can you stop looking so shagging cheerful?” she admonished the actress who played Countess Báthory.
A wave of laughter resonated through the room, but only for a short moment. Lena, dressed in an opulent sixteen century red gown, rearranged her facial features. In a second her eyes became cold, her expression one of dark, mad satisfaction. They were filming the scene where the Countess was cutting the throat of a young girl,
after torturing her. Although the body was nothing more than a dummy covered in fake blood and artistically painted wounds, it still made my stomach a bit queasy. Writing this scene had given me nightmares. But then, art demands sacrifices. I thought this was a powerful scene even in writing, but on screen it was heart-wrenching. Seeing this entire story take shape outside my mind was overwhelming. Mixed feelings assaulted me, from pride and happiness to a sense of fulfillment, shadowed by the fear that I would never be able to write something as impressive again.
“I’m going to write a sequel to this novel.”
I wasn’t aware I’d murmured the words aloud, but Marie’s sharp ears were always at the ready. Her dark gaze turned toward me, full of interest.
“Really? That’s a great idea.”
“Do you think so? I mean, I’m not even sure what turn the story will take, or if it will be successful. In fact, I have no idea how this movie will turn out. We love it because we’re making it, but is it truly that good?”
“Good enough to gain some Oscars. I wouldn’t have started making it otherwise.”
The iron conviction in her voice boosted my spirits considerably. MBM was a giant company after all, so I should have known they wouldn’t make an investment if they weren’t pretty sure of the outcome. I needed to start working on that sequel ASAP.
“Alright, people, let’s take five,” said Mark, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “This friggin’ heat is driving me nuts. I wanna wrap it up here in a couple of days and move to Copperville,” he announced, referring to the Californian village he’d chosen to film the last part of the movie. “Another week, maybe ten days there, and if everything goes according to plan, we’ll be done shooting. Now, take a small break and then let’s do some close-ups.”
Blake came and sat next to me, munching some potato chips. He offered me the bag and I dug in gratefully. As the others moved around us to and fro, we crunched away, tuning off the sounds surrounding us.