SHOOTING STAR

by Tammy Talpas

thediva@templeofaero.com

1.

It was a way to make easy money. That simple. The dance studio's floor had several planks that needed replacing or repair. Sure, it was cheesy... right? I mean, who ever heard of music videos? What was the point? But if some self-indulgent rock stars needed to see themselves on the screen, as well as on the stage, and were willing to pay scale for a bunch of women to hang all over them, flatter their egos, and help them sell records... Hell, it was their money -- or their record company's...

Whatever. The bottom line was the bottom line. The Screen Actors Guild was on strike. Commercial actors had been striking forever, so these new commercials for music had to be shot using whatever scabs would cross the lines, or whatever outside talent could be found.

She could dance. She could hang all over some rock star. She needed the money. Her dance studio needed the money. The floor needed repairs. All she had to do was walk downstairs, to see that.

Maggie looked at the ad again, just as she had been doing for eight days. Last Sunday, lying on the floor reading the LA Times classifieds, it had jumped out at her like a Jack-in-the-box.

FEMALE DANCERS

needed for music video.

Jazz/modern pref.

Bring headshots to call.

Cast/Shoot MN 1-18 2PM

LSN Studios, Soundstage G

Wash. Blvd, Culver City

All week long, as she taught classes, Maggie had been working the idea over in her mind. Would she be chosen? How long after the shoot would she get the check? How quickly could she schedule the repairs? Could they be done in a single day? Would she have to close the studio? Call off classes?

In an admitted excess of confidence (or perhaps wishful thinking), she had canceled classes for the coming week, and contacted a contractor to come and look at the floor. After seeing the studio earlier that morning, he had given her his cost estimate, saying that it should take two days to complete all the work, and an additional two days for the new finish to dry. The price was right, so she reserved the first available block of time in his schedule. He would return tomorrow, early in the afternoon, to start the job.

Well, then. That settled it. There was no turning back now. Glancing at the clock on her dresser, she noted the time -- 1:22 PM. She was wearing a simple white cotton shirt and Levi's, and black cowboy boots with a slight heel. Her long, curly hair was loosely gathered at the back of her neck with a clip. In her dance bag was just about every piece of clothing she owned. You couldn't be too prepared, she reasoned.

She had been stalling, staring off into space. She was nervous. Shaking it off, she grabbed her bag, and headed out her apartment door, locking it behind her. She walked downstairs to the studio, stopping at the doorway to watch the afternoon sun bounce off the ancient floor and the wall of mirrors, filling the space with a warm golden glow. That glow was the reason she had picked this studio in the first place. She smiled her head off, thinking about how that glow would look gleaming off of brand new varnish.

2.

"Hi, I'm here for the casting call on Soundstage G," she informed the kiosk attendant, "Where do I go?"

"Just straight ahead, Miss," he replied with a friendly smile. "It's the fourth building on your left. Parking is in the loading area behind the soundstage. Turn left just before the building, and you'll see the signs."

"Thanks," Maggie replied, returning his smile, and rolling up her window.

Her hands were shaking. What was that all about? There was no reason to be nervous. If she didn't make the cut, she could call the contractor and pay the 20% cancellation fee. Yes, she'd have a week off with no income... But, nothing ventured...

Still, her hands wouldn't stop shaking. She made her turn, followed the signs, and grabbed a parking space. She watched the clock on her dash go from 1:49 to 1:56 PM. She watched a veritable bevy of tall, blonde-haired American Beauties (some she recognized from dance functions, most she didn't) park their cars, and head through the studio's back door. Her confidence had suddenly decided to go "on break." She put her hand to the ignition several times, ready to leave.

"Well, hell," she said to herself, "it's worth a shot."

One last glance in the rearview mirror, then she grabbed her dance bag, and exited the sanctuary of her Chevy Malibu.

3.

Once inside the wonderfully cool soundstage, her eyes adjusted to see about 40 young women standing on a stage, bags in hand, some who had obviously come in pairs, and were chatting quietly. She joined them.

"Why don't you all grab a seat on the edge of the stage," called out a male voice, "and let's see what we've got, here?"

Looking from the lit stage out to the dimmer floor area, Maggie put a face to the voice. He looked like a surf bum, albeit a wealthy one. His salt-and-pepper hair was wavy and thick, and she guessed his age to be about 45. He had a warm, open face, an easygoing smile, and the kind of demeanor that put people instantly at ease. Maggie liked him immediately. Standing next to him, arms crossed over his chest, was a younger, shorter man, with long, chocolate-brown hair, who wasn't saying anything. He looked pissed off and bored.

Maggie found a spot on the edge of the stage, sat down, and slid her bag behind her. She focused on the older man, who introduced himself as Ben Martin. Any time her eyes would shift over to the younger man, she would feel the sudden impulse to get the hell out of there. The guy was dangerous. Beautiful, but dangerous. She knew the type. Boy, did she.

"If you ladies would get out your headshots, please," Ben asked, "we can get started." Maggie complied, holding her 8 x10 glossy and cover letter (basically, a physical resume) in her hand. When she glanced down at the headshot of the magnificent, tall, blonde bombshell on her left, her stomach sank. "Don't think about it," she told herself.

"This is Joe Perry," Ben began, "and it's his video that we are casting. Who here has heard of Joe Perry?" Most of the girls, Maggie included, raised their hands. "Good," Ben said. "This video is for a song off of Joe's soon-to-be-released solo album, called 'Shooting Star'. The video's concept is fairly simple: Joe loves his guitar. He's going to play his guitar. Those of you that are chosen -- about 12 of you -- are going to try to distract him, and make him stop playing. You are going to fail. See?" he said, amongst a flurry of giggles from the dancers, "Simple."

"Okay!" Ben shouted, clapping his hands, "Everyone take off your shoes." The flurry of giggles turned into a gale of laughter, but the dancers complied, setting their shoes behind them with their bags. "Now hop down here where I can see you," Ben ordered.

Maggie slid off the end of the stage, and down onto the floor, with her headshot in hand. Joe, shaking his head in disgust, had wandered off toward the other end of the room. Maggie heard a door slam. "There he goes," she thought.

"Joe is just going out front to have a cigarette," Ben lamely explained to the line of ladies, "he doesn’t much like this part."

4.

Ben began moving down the line of girls, graciously weeding out the tall Amazons. "You're fabulous, but we can’t use you." "You're a stunning woman, but not what we are looking for." "We really appreciate your coming here, but you're not right for this video."

But from each dancer he dismissed, Ben took her headshot. When he was done with his first pass through the line, he stepped back, saying, "Ladies, this is what I do. In fact, I'm going to be doing A LOT of these in the future, I have a feeling. So, I am keeping every headshot from this call. Believe me, you will hear from me. Chin up."

The 20-or-so girls who had been too tall to survive the first cut descended on Ben with hugs and thanks, and he seemed genuinely surprised that they weren't angry. "Well! That was easy! But I meant what I said. You will be hearing from me. Now, off with you, Ladies. Enjoy your day. My name is Ben Martin... expect to hear from me!"

Two more passes through the line, and Maggie was still alive. "Thank god I'm only 5'5"," she thought, "or I'd be on my way back to my apartment right now..."

Whether by design or by accident, Ben's "cuts" had left nine girls, all about the same height, but none of whom looked anything like the others. Short hair, long hair, curly hair, straight hair, every color... thin girls, buxom girls... classic beauties and more eclectic faces.

Maggie was nervous; she was shaking. It wasn't even 2:15, and things were moving fast.

"Grab a seat, ladies. I'm going to play the song for you once, so you get an idea of what we are working with," Ben informed the still-living. "Cue it up, Mark."

Maggie sat listening intently from her perch on the edge of the stage. She knew Aerosmith's music -- who didn't? -- but this song was different than what she expected to hear. The raunch was there, the rawness, but the voice was so... different. She was staring into space, imagining being a "dancing distraction" to the tune of this song. How exactly was this going to work, again? Just thinking about the scenario made her giggle. She couldn't help it.

"What do you think, Joe?" Ben asked.

Maggie jumped a little in shock. Was he here? How long had he been watching? Did he see her sitting there, giggling like an idiot? Did he think she was laughing at his song? Was he angry at her? Oh, no...

"I think we need to get on with it, Ben," Joe shot back.

Maggie's eyes searched the room for him, but she couldn't find him in the shadows. He sure sounded angry.

"Okay, Ladies, here's the deal," Ben began. "We want to try this as a single unedited shot, with a static camera. Joe is going to be leaning up against a wall, playing, and what I want to do is send you ladies -- one at time -- to dance your way on over to him, and try to get him to stop playing and pay attention to you. He's not going to, of course, but I want you to give it your best shot... do whatever you think is going to work, and keep it PG-Rated. You're sort of going to be the authors of this piece, since choreography is your thing, not mine. We're just going to sort of 'wing-it' until we get it right. I hope nobody has dinner plans!"

The dancers laughed. Ben laughed. Joe, wherever he was, did NOT laugh.

"Any questions?" Ben asked.

5.

"Shooting Star" had been cued to play on a loop to help the chosen get familiar with it, and Maggie was now in the wardrobe department with eight other dancers, all being outfitted in the same ensemble -- a gauzy midnight blue dress that was basically a halter around the neck that tied at the waist, and fell into long veil-like swaths of fabric that made up the skirt. The dress, which was similar to modern dance costumes that Maggie had worn in the past, forbade the wearing of any undergarments. The wardrobe staff had also let the dancers know that they would be going barelegged and barefoot.

"We're aiming for a very casual look," said the chic, black-haired woman named Edna, who appeared to be the head of the department, "so your hair will be worn down, and the makeup girls will be coming by to touch you up in a minute."

"But before they do, Ben wanted me to mention something to all of you." That got Maggie's attention, and the other dancers were listening carefully, too. "The costumes may be the same, but he doesn’t want this to be uniform. Do you understand what I mean? Do not put your heads together to come up with something. Each of you will be 'going your own way,' so don't pay attention to what any of the others does, dance-wise. This is the reason that you've not been asked to show your chops. We know you can dance, and you know you can dance. So dance, but do it your own way. That's all."

Once wardrobe and makeup had worked their magic, Maggie and the chosen made their way back to the stage area, which now looked completely different. A set of a city street had been moved in, complete with a brick wall, fire escape, and flashing neon sign. The floor of the stage looked like wet pavement. Behind the set was a faux starry sky. There seemed to be a million people in the room -- camera men, light operators, people wandering around busily and making a lot of noise.

And there, in the back corner of the room... the STAR. He was sitting on a barstool as two women worked on his hair and makeup. Gazing at his profile, Maggie felt an irrational animosity towards him. "Beautiful jerk," she thought. As she continued watching him, the ladies moved away. The moment their backs were turned, Joe ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it. He looked up then, meeting Maggie's eyes for the briefest of moments, but not seeming to see her at all. He was unguarded in that moment, or she never would have seen it. He looked sad. Profoundly sad. Soul-sad.

Before Maggie had a chance to absorb that shocking information, Joe turned away defensively, glanced around, and bent over the barstool next to him. He was snorting something.

"LEAVE!" a voice inside Maggie's head shouted. "GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!"

"Maggie?" Ben asked, tapping her on her shoulder, and scaring her temporarily out of her wits. "We'd like you to go last." He was pointing to the corner of the set, where the other eight dancers were already gathered.

How long had she been standing there, staring at him? Had anyone noticed? What had she missed?

She hurried across the room to the stage steps, and took her place at the end of the line. The dancers then moved behind the street set, where a production assistant explained that he would be sending them out shortly, one at a time, to "do your thing."

6.

As they waited for shooting to commence, the dancers warmed up and stretched out. Most were scattered around the floor in various contortions. Maggie was down in the splits resting on her elbows, staring off into space, when suddenly, the loop of "Shooting Star" stopped. Ben was heard barking out a bunch of orders, including, "Get up there, Joe! You want to get this over with, don't you? Move your ass, then!"

This sent the dancers, Maggie included, into helpless fits of nervous laughter which could be heard throughout the room. Ben definitely heard them. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Ladies, but Joe is being his usual surly self," he hollered good-naturedly.

"Fuck you, Ben," Joe said, but he didn’t really sound angry. In fact, he sounded completely different than he had before. He sounded happy -- cocky. Maggie wondered if that was whatever he had snorted, kicking in. That thought only made her stomach tighten more, but she got to her feet, and into position at the end of the line.

She heard footsteps then, moving up the stage steps and across to the front of the street set, just on the other side of the false wall from her. "That must be Joe," she thought, "Here we go."

The first dancer in line was a beautiful brunette with an equally beautiful body. She didn't seem nervous at all, and Maggie wondered if she had done this kind of thing many times before. When Ben called out, "All quiet on the set," the brunette didn't even flinch, though Maggie did. Her heart was racing, and she kept repeating to herself, "Just wing it. Just wing it. You don't have to get it right on the first go-round."

"Ready, lights... camera... ACTION!" Ben shouted. The light changed dramatically, and the music began, much louder this time. The stage felt like a spaceship about to lift off. Maggie was suddenly disoriented, and much more nervous than before. After about 20 seconds or so of a screaming guitar finding its groove, the director's assistant nodded to the lovely brunette, who marched right out to "do her thing."

Her heart beating wildly, Maggie waited for Dancer Number Two to get her cue, but that never happened.

"Cut!" Ben called out. "Listen, Debbie... This is for regular TV. Think PG-Rated. Let's go again."

And they did... go again, that is. Several times over the space of two hours, always getting a little further down the line of dancers, but never quite getting to Maggie. Video-shooting was an incredibly tedious business, she decided.

After the last shout of "Cut," Ben called the Ladies out onto the stage. "We're going to take a twenty minute break now. Please bear with us. Things are going great, but we're all getting a little tired, and could use a break. Feel free to step outside or whatever, but don't go too far. You need to be able to hear me when I call you back."

Everyone began milling around, and several of the dancers made a beeline towards the video's star, and the catering table set up against the far wall of the room, where he was apparently heading. Maggie made a beeline in the other direction.

Slipping out the back door to the loading area, she found a private spot. The sun was going down, and putting on a beautiful show of it. The sky had turned that glorious color of lavender that it only does in Southern California. The wind was beginning to turn chilly, but it felt wonderful, after standing under the hot lights for hours. Needing to unwind, Maggie walked up to the fence on the far side of the parking area and used it as a barre, running effortlessly through her standard ballet warm-up exercises. As she did, she could feel the tension begin to flow out of her muscles, and her mind. This was her way of relaxing. It always had been, for as long as she could remember. Dance wasn't just her vocation, it was her identity, and the prescription for just about whatever ailed her. Once done at the fence, she moved onto the grass and began doing floor exercises -- mostly turns, which were her favorite.

After a while, the last bits of nervousness about the shoot fell away, and she felt more like herself. She walked back to the fence, and watched the last of the sunset -- the magenta burst right before dusk. Then Ben's voice was calling everyone back, and Maggie hurried across the parking lot and through the door.

7.

After getting back into line, Maggie suffered the ministrations of the hair and wardrobe ladies, who had returned to survey the damage that the 20-minute break had wrought on their charges. "You've been sweating!" one accused. "Sorry about that," Maggie said. But she wasn't sorry in the least. She felt fantastic... glowing.

"Where is he?" Ben shouted, at no one in particular. "Get him back in here, so we can get going!"

Maggie heard the back door of the soundstage open, and Joe call out, "I'm here. I was just out back." She had a moment of real panic at the thought that he might have been out there when she was, watching her behind her back. Then she shook it off, certain that if he had been, she would have seen him. She wouldn't have missed him. No way.

A few minutes later, everything was set and ready to go again. The break seemed to have worked its magic, because everything went smoothly, and finally, Maggie's long-awaited cue came.

The director's assistant gave her the signal, and she stepped out from behind the set, ready to work her way toward Joe. He was where she expected him to be, leaning back against the wall, playing his guitar along with the music, his chin down and his hair tumbling in front of his eyes. He seemed for all the world to be oblivious to everything -- to the video shoot, to the cameras, and to her. That made the next part easier.

She decided to spin her way across the stage to him, for two reasons. First off, it was her best "move," and secondly, it would get her there in front of him quickly, and she was a little nervous. She still hadn't a clue how precisely she was going to try to "distract" him, but she was confident that something would come to her in her moment of need.

Fixing her eyes on the far wall to Joe's right, she began her turns. She could feel the gauzy veils of fabric swishing around her legs, and her hair snapping over her shoulder to brush up against her back as she spun toward him to the music, closing the distance. When Maggie hit her mark in front of Joe, she stopped quickly -- a little too quickly on the unfamiliar surface. That, combined with the fact that she was utterly unprepared for what she saw -- for the shock of how impossibly beautiful he was -- threw her balance hopelessly off. Being an experienced dancer, she rocked up onto the balls of her feet to save herself, but it was too late for a graceful recovery. She was falling into him. And he was watching her do it. As their faces came still closer together, Maggie blindly reached for the wall behind him with her left hand -- intending to catch herself, regain her footing, and give it another go. She kept expecting to hear Ben scream "CUT," but it never came. As her flat palm was almost ready to hit the wall beside Joe's face, his right hand left the guitar, shot up and caught her wrist. She couldn't tell whether he was trying to keep her from falling, or make her fall. He was staring into her face. His eyes were cold and angry. She thought he might hit her.

He had her left hand, but she had her right, and she fully intended to use it to steady herself on the wall next to him -- to push herself back to a standing position, and to get away from his angry gaze. If she could just get her hand on that wall...

As though he had read her mind, he thwarted her. Dropping the neck of his guitar, his left arm shot around her, behind her back. Looking angrier than before, he jerked her to him. Her breath left her in a rush, and for the first time, she realized he was waiting for her -- expecting her -- to slap him. She didn’t understand. Why was he acting like this, trying to humiliate her? What had she done, other than screw up by losing her footing? He didn't even know her!

Then in a split-second of perfect clarity, her woman's intuition answered, "He is trying to make you hate him. Because you are a woman. Because he doesn't trust you. Because you are a woman. Because you have power over him. Because you are a woman."

She wasn't a hand's-span from his face, so she could see it clearly now. He wasn't angry. He was hurt and paranoid, and in his own mind. And something about the incongruous truth of that reality, and how unlikely it seemed that a man so unbelievably beautiful would have a reason to feel vulnerable, made her forgive his manhandling of her.

Of its own volition, her right hand reached up toward his face, her fingertips settling on his lips. The shock of that intimate gesture seemed to pull Joe from wherever he had been, and his eyes cleared enough that Maggie was convinced he actually saw HER, for the first time.

She stayed there, her fingertips resting lightly on his lips, her eyes looking into his, trying to understand his reaction to her. The unspoken communication must have affected him, too. His left arm tightened still more painfully around her waist, and he searched her face for a reaction. Maggie did nothing, not even blink, just kept looking into his eyes, trying to take the measure of the man, to see his soul.

The music was quickly fading out -- completely ill-suited to the emotions she was sensing in him. His face was moving toward hers, and she was suddenly certain he meant to kiss her. That was something she could not risk. She pulled her hand away from his face, and tried to twist away from him. He still had hold of her left wrist, so she twisted her own arm, leaving him no choice but to let go of it, or break it.

He let go. As soon as he did, Maggie bolted.

"Cut," Ben shouted. "That's a wrap." The crew began clapping enthusiastically. Maggie thought she had landed on some foreign terrain where the natives were all certifiable. Getting hold of herself, she slowed to a walk just in time to turn the corner and move behind the set, back with the other dancers, none of whom had seen her humiliate herself.

She had to get out of there, and quick.

8.

Now that the shoot was wrapping, the other dancers seemed ready to party. There was a lot of talk about "good drugs" and how "hot" Joe was -- and a fair amount of speculation on who (singular or plural) would be going home with him that night. For reasons she did not explore, Maggie found all of this talk revolting.

She just wanted to go home, period. She found her bag, slipped her jeans on under the dress, and whipped it off over her head. She didn't even care about being naked in front of these glorious women. She pulled her shirt on, tying it quickly rather than bothering with the buttons, grabbed her boots in her right hand and her dance bag in her left, and headed for the back door. Once there, she realized she hadn't been paid.

"To hell with it," she thought. "They've got my cover letter. They can mail it to me."

Then she was out the door and walking rapidly to her car. Her hands were shaking, but she managed to get the key out of her bag and into first the lock and then the ignition, and to turn the car over. As she began to back out, she glanced in the rearview mirror, and saw the back door of the soundstage open. The figure of a man was silhouetted against the light inside. It looked like Joe, but she convinced herself that it could have been anybody. She turned the wheel hard so she wouldn't have to see for sure, and drove through the lot. Once again, she approached the kiosk attendant, this time to leave. He came to the window of her car, all smiles, until he saw the determined look on her face. "Um... Miss? They're looking for you back at G. They're not quite done. They'd like you to come back."

She dug her heels in. This was a crazy situation, and the sooner she got away from it, the better for her. "Well, I'm done," she said, "and I'm not going back. Either you open this gate, or I'm going to drive through it... I SWEAR TO GOD!"

The guard had more than his fair share of experience with temperamental artistic types, so he took the path of least resistance, and opened the gate.

The farther she got from the studio, the more Maggie was convinced that she had overreacted to everything. Joe was acting. ACTING. Any idiot could see that! And she had made a fool of herself by running off like a frightened rabbit. "Oh, well, water under the bridge," she thought, "either way, I'm done with it." At least the video had wrapped before she made her hasty departure.

Once she was upstairs over her dance studio in her own space, she pushed the day's events completely from her mind. This was a talent of hers -- moving on from unpleasantness -- and was born of a lifetime of necessity. "No use dwelling on that," she thought to herself. The time would come, much later, when she would face down her demons, but for tonight, she was more than happy to ignore them.

She read her mail, spent some time unpacking her dance bag, and thought about making herself dinner. She didn't feel like cooking, though. What she needed was... Well, she didn't know what she needed, but a hot bath sounded good. She dialed up the corner Chinese restaurant -- Mongolia Kitchen -- and ordered Kung Pao Chicken and Hot and Sour Soup, to be delivered in one hour.

The apartment above the studio was a converted warehouse space. Originally, the dance studio below had been a tailor's shop (thus the wall of mirrors), and the space above had been used for display, storage and machinery. The wall looking out onto the street was a row of glass display windows; the three remaining walls were unfinished brick; and the floor was hardwood. It was a great space, though it had no interior walls whatsoever. Creative furniture arrangement, privacy screens and drapes created the illusion of rooms, where there were none.

Maggie walked over to the bathing chamber, which was hidden behind two large oriental screens. She started the water running into the claw-footed tub, and adjusted the temperature until it was just slightly cooler than too-hot-to-stand. Gathering her hair up into a loose pile of curls, she fastened it with a clip on the back of her head. She had an hour to kill, and planned to spend the lion's share of it in the tub. As it filled, she grabbed her favorite satin bathrobe out of the armoire on the raised dais that served as her bedroom, and stepped back behind the screens, blocking her view of the street through the windows. Once there, she slipped out of her shirt and jeans, throwing them on the floor carelessly. When the tub was almost full, she poured in some bath salts and let their fragrance fill the room.

The water was too hot, but that was the way she liked it. When she finally stepped out almost an hour later, her skin was bright pink, and steaming. She toweled off, put on her robe, and went about setting a place for one for dinner.

When the buzzer downstairs sounded, her mouth watered pleasantly. Reaching for the intercom, she asked, "Who is it?"

"Delivery for Maggie from Mongolia Kitchen," said an Asian voice. "Buzz me up, please."

9.

Maggie hit the buzzer, and waited by the door as his footsteps came up the stairs. She had her money in one hand, tip included, and reached to open the door with the other before the delivery guy even had a chance to knock.

As the door swung open, she saw him there, standing just outside her doorway, Chinese food in hand. It was Joe. The surprise of finding him there made her take a reflexive step backward. Neither of them said anything. She looked into his eyes, and saw that they were clear -- lucid.

They stood there like that, facing off, for a while. Finally Joe spoke.

"Here," he said in a shy voice, holding the bag out to her.

She hesitated for a moment, then took the bag from him, setting it and her money on the table by the door. Without looking up from the table, she quietly asked him, "What are you doing here, Joe?"

He said nothing.

She looked up at him, trying to read his mind, but seeing only confusion.

"I don’t know what I'm doing here," he finally answered.

"How long have you been waiting outside?" Maggie asked, ready to weigh his answer for the truth.

"About an hour. I followed you from the studio."

"Why?" she asked.

"I don’t know," he said, shaking his head.

She'd had enough of this.

"Look," she said, "No hard feelings about today. I'm not upset. Go home, Joe, or wherever it is you spend your nights." Maggie began to swing the door shut. When she saw the look on his face, she stopped, suddenly sorry for the way that sounded. "I'm sorry. I didn’t mean that. Just go. It's okay."

There, she'd made her peace with him. She began to shut the door again, exiling him from her thoughts already.

"Wait!" he said, putting his hand against the closing door. "Can't I come in and talk to you?"

There it was. She'd been waiting for it. That was all she needed to hear. She was right about him, from the start. She should have trusted her instincts. A beautiful jerk. Used to women swooning at his feet. Used to getting his way with a smile. Only wants what he cannot have. She knew all about guys like him. More than she wanted to know. Enough to write a goddamn book. She'd show him that he didn’t know who he was fooling with. She could give as good as she got.

"Come in? Talk?" she innocently asked, moving towards him provocatively, letting her robe fall open a little just like his shirt, exposing the flesh between her breasts. "That's not really what you want... is it, Joe?"

Her sudden shift in attitude caught him completely off-guard, and he said nothing, just stared down at her.

She was almost against him now. She could feel the heat from his body touching her skin. He was looking down at her, confused again, pretending again... which only made her angrier.

"We both know why you're here, Joe. Don't we?" she sweetly asked. Her hands slid inside his shirt, at the waist, and began a slow journey upward. She parted the fabric, exposing his chest, and leaned into him. Nothing was separating them but the thin satin of her robe, and the thought pleased her immensely. Her nipples were hard, he couldn't help but notice, and that pleased her even more. She pressed up hard against him now, and felt his erection jerk against her belly.

"What?" Joe asked, looking like a man who had been thrown in the deep end without warning. "What are you talking about? I just wanted to see you!"

"Bullshit," she thought, getting still angrier. This guy wouldn’t give up. He was insulting her intelligence, and that was an unforgivable sin in her eyes.

"You just wanted to see me?" she asked, pulling herself and her hands away from his chest, and reaching for the sash of her robe. As he stood there, motionless, she untied it, and shrugged the fabric off her shoulders, holding her arms out and the robe open behind her. She was naked before him, staring into his eyes unflinchingly.

She watched him struggle -- watched him try not to look away from her eyes, not to look at her -- and was pleased when he lost his battle. His eyes wandered over her, still with that feigned look of confusion that so infuriated her, but now with another look, too.

"There," Maggie said. "You've seen me. Now GET OUT!" And with that, she swung the door hard at him.

10.

He never saw it coming, that much was true, but he was still quicker than she gave him credit for. He moved his foot into the path of the door before it could shut him out. She was walking away from him, angrily tying her robe, when Maggie heard the door rebound back and hit the wall.

She spun around, clothed now, expecting him to come after her, to turn nasty, and ready to put more distance between them if need be. But he was where she had left him, still standing just outside her door.

"Maggie, listen to me," he said. "I don’t know what you are thinking, or why you think I came here. I'm not sure I know myself. But you've got the wrong idea."

Well, this was not going at all as she expected, and she found herself willing to hear him out, but from where he stood.

"I'm listening," she said, crossing her arms over her chest, "but you're staying where you are. Agreed?"

"Yes. Agreed," he said, anything to buy a little time. "I thought..." he began, looking defeated, "I thought something happened back at the studio. If I'm wrong, just say so, and I'll go. But I thought --"

"You thought what? That I want you?" Maggie asked, moving across the apartment towards him. The sarcasm was gone from her voice, and she was speaking to him honestly now. "Every woman who lays eyes on you wants you. Every woman there wanted you. Why should I be any different?"

She stopped in front of him, putting her face beneath his until he was forced to look at her and acknowledge her, trusting him to stay on the other side of the doorway, but not knowing why she did.

"You're beautiful. I want you," Maggie said simply. "There. I've said it. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"No," Joe answered, turning his face away from her, and staring into space. "Back at the studio... I thought that you... saw me. That you understood. And that you wanted me anyway."

He looked back at her then, pinning her eyes, ready to weigh her answer for the truth, just as she had his, earlier.

Now it was her turn to look away. He was asking her to expect nothing of him, to accept him for what he was. He was saying he believed she did. He offered no false declarations of love, no flattery, no praise, no lies -- which she would not have believed anyway. His silence on the subject of what, if anything, he felt about her was seductive. Should she tell him the truth? Where was the harm in that? She heard the words come out of her mouth before she realized she had even intended to speak them.

"I did."

He reached for her then, his hand stopping near her face, and a thousand thoughts flooded her mind. Her body was screaming for him, and her mind was joining the chorus. "Just this one night," she thought. She sensed his hesitation, and knew he was leaving the decision up to her. "Just this one night," her mind screamed... "I want, I want, I want..."

She turned back toward him then, laid her face in his hand and looked into his eyes. She began slowly rubbing her cheek against his upturned palm. He was watching her intently, and when he realized she was nodding "yes," his reaction was explosive. His hand slid behind her neck, and pulled her face urgently to his. Their lips met, and Maggie felt a shock of electricity bring to life a million butterflies in her stomach. Her arms went around his neck, and she was dazedly aware that she was holding onto him for dear life. His hands gripped her around her back, moving restlessly over her robe, spreading heat wherever they touched her.

The longer he kissed her, the weaker she felt. She was hanging onto him now, her heart thundering wildly, her breath all but gone. Joe pulled his lips away from her mouth, sliding them to her throat, and she madly gasped for air, and in ecstasy. At that moment, she didn’t care at all about tomorrows or yesterdays. It didn't matter that she could have been any woman. There wasn't room in her mind for anything but the way he was making her feel, and her desperate desire to please him in return. She wasn't pretending he was something he was not -- a cherished lover -- she wasn't pretending at all. He was just the man she wanted, and she was just a woman, and it was just for this one night.

11.

Joe, on the other hand, wasn't trusting his sudden change in luck. Something about the whole situation struck him as off, but in his aroused state, he couldn't think clearly to figure out what that was. Instead of feeling victorious about his successful conquest -- another in a long line since his marriage had imploded -- he felt unsure. All he knew for certain was that Maggie was in his arms, where he wanted her to be, and that she wasn't holding anything back. Still, he couldn't escape the feeling that if he made one false move, the slightest misstep, he would find himself back outside her studio on the sidewalk, and all of this would have been an illusion -- a feast his mind had cooked up to satisfy his hungry heart.

"You're being paranoid," he told himself. "You're here. This is real. This is happening." But he didn't believe it. He couldn't shake the suspicion that this was some sort of game -- one he was losing -- and that he didn't know why.

Pulling his face away from her throat, Joe let his eyes wander over the woman in his arms. Her eyes were closed, her head tilted back and turned slightly to one side in an unmistakable posture of sexual surrender. He could see the soft skin of her throat turning pink where his mouth had been. He could see her heartbeat racing through the vein on the side of her neck. He could feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest against his. When she finally opened her eyes, the expression on her face was undeniable, and devastatingly familiar.

It was almost religious, the ecstasy he saw there.

Joe had seen that look on a woman's face before -- the woman he had loved -- but only once, the first time they shot up together. Even through the thick sweetness of his first heroin high, her reaction to the drug had managed to shock him. Until that moment, he had convinced himself that Elissa was incapable of that kind of bliss, but he had been wrong. That fateful night, Joe Perry had experienced his first taste of real jealousy. In the blink of an eye, heroin had become his addiction, and his rival for Elissa's affections. Over time, she began using more and more, trying in vain to recapture the feeling of her first high. Over time, he began using more and more, trying in vain to dull the pain of knowing that no matter how much he wanted it, and no matter how hard he tried, he would never see that look directed at him. Never.

He couldn't believe it was happening now. There may have been a time -- before Elissa, before fame, before the drugs owned him -- when Joe had been a bit of a romantic. But if he had ever believed in love, bitter reality had cured him of that crippling sickness. There would be no relapses. He was smarter now, whether he wanted to be or not. Smart enough to know that things that seem too good to be true, are.

Smart enough to know when he was being conned. Like now.

Watching Joe stare at her, Maggie had never felt so exposed in all her life. As his expression changed swiftly from passion to disgust, she instantly knew why. This was a one-night stand, a no-strings-attached physical encounter, and she had committed an unpardonable breech of sexual etiquette by failing to conceal her emotions. Unfortunately, as much as she may have wanted to, she just couldn't. Nature had seen fit to send her into the world absent the requisite emotional poker-face. Whatever she was feeling, it was right there, on her face and in her eyes, for all the world to see. For Joe to see. And he despised her for it.

He let go of her suddenly, as though touching her might contaminate him.

It stung, but Maggie didn't want him to see how much it did. She turned away toward the windows overlooking the street, avoiding his furious, prying gaze. Then the full moon caught her eye, and Joe faded from her awareness.

The moon! She hadn't noticed it earlier. It was impossibly huge, floating just above the roofline of the shops across the street. It glowed a curious shade of orange, and filled her with a shattering sensation of deja vu.

"My god..." she whispered to herself.

It took hold of her, rocketing her back through time to another night with the very same moon, but with a very different man -- the man who had changed her life. Caught up in the memory of that night, Maggie gravitated to the window, and again turned the puzzle over in her mind: What was it about the full moon that brought craziness into her life? And why? As a child, she had always fancied the full moon was magical; but as an adult, she had experienced only the dark aspect of that magic... on a night when, for a time, the moon was all she could see.

A sudden feeling of vertigo seized her as the moon tugged her deeper into the memory of that night. Acting in self-defense, Maggie laid her palms against the window glass, blocking out the image of the full moon, and the memory it stirred. The trance was broken. Quickly, she reached up and grabbed hold of the drape hanging at the end of the window, and sent the fabric flying down the rod.

Back in the present, Maggie suddenly realized she hadn't heard Joe leave. Without turning around, she simply said, "I'm sorry."

"Tell me WHY," Joe shot back angrily.

"Joe, I--"

"Look at me, goddammit!"

She heard his footsteps, angry and fast, coming across the room toward her, but she wasn't afraid of him. He wouldn't physically harm her, she knew that, but she also knew that she couldn't stand to look at him -- to see him looking at her with such loathing.

When he reached her, he spun her around, away from the window and the moon, his hands locking on her shoulders. But Maggie wouldn't look him in the eye. Joe found himself looking at the top of her head.

"Look at me!" he growled again, shaking her.

Maggie knew he wouldn't leave until she did. She had already humiliated herself in front of him -- and more than once -- on this strange day, so what was one more debasement? What did it matter?

She looked up into his angry eyes, intending to apologize for burdening him with her sudden and inexplicable infatuation, for not being more sophisticated, and for not being a better actress. But just as it had been the first time she had gotten this close to him -- back at the soundstage when she stumbled into him -- she found her mind filled only with the shock of his physical beauty, and with her desire for him.

Joe couldn't believe her gall. She was doing it again -- looking at him that way. Trying to manipulate him... to con him. Why? What did she want?

"WHY?! Why are you looking at me like that?!"

Maggie could see that he was even angrier than he had been. She knew she had to focus -- to give him an explanation for her behavior. She realized that the only way to do that was to close her eyes and shut out his face, which filled her entire awareness and left no room for logical thought or coherent speech.

Her head still tilted up to his, she let out a shaky breath, and did just that. But as her eyes closed, the apology she had intended to make flew from her mind. Left in its place was a simple explanation, and a request:

"I can't help it, that's why. But couldn't you close your eyes and pretend, just for this one night, not to notice how crazy I am about you? Or at least pretend not to mi--"

Before Maggie could finish, Joe's mouth was on hers. His sudden kiss was ferocious -- almost painful -- but it wasn't a punishment. It was a test. Maggie sensed that, but she didn't understand it, or know how to pass it. Still, it didn't matter, at least not to her. She didn't care anymore what he thought of her, why he came here, what the kiss meant, or what had possessed her to ask him to stay after he had rejected her. The questions were gone. The only thing she cared about now was the feeling... and the feeling was real. If the kiss ended badly -- and with that crazy moon hanging outside her window, she had good reason to fear it might -- that was a small price that she was more than willing to pay, to be able to kiss him again.

Just as she had at her door, Maggie returned his kiss with the fierce abandon of a woman with nothing to lose. If she hadn't already confessed them aloud, all the crazy, inexplicable things she felt for Joe were communicated in her kiss, for him to take or leave, as he pleased.

Joe took them. He was convinced. In the back of his mind, he knew that if he was wrong about her, there would be hell to pay. But whether Maggie was an angel sent to save him, or a devil sent to destroy him, all he wanted right now was to stay here, in this little corner of heaven, with her. He'd settle the bill tomorrow.

In the battle between the sexes, wars of will are often fought, but rarely declared. Simultaneous surrenders from opposing sides are virtually unheard of. Yet here they were, Joe and Maggie, both of them abandoning the fight and their defensive postures, and suing for peace with their lips, their tongues, their mouths.

If their first kiss had been fiery, then this kiss was nuclear.

12.

Although he was definitely the one responsible for starting the kiss, Joe quickly realized he wasn't steering it anymore... in fact, no one was. Somewhere along the way the wheel had slipped out of his fingers, and the kiss had accelerated like an out-of-control thrill ride. As it careened down its own crazy path at breakneck speed, Joe felt himself spinning out of control right along with it. He knew he had to find the brakes and slow things down... make this last... make this good for both of them.

Somehow, he managed to break free from the kiss. Pulling away, he tried desperately to catch his breath. Instead, he stood there helpless as Maggie took it away.

Stepping back from him, she reached up oh-so-slowly with one hand and unfastened the clip holding her hair. As she tilted her head back, her long curls, now set free, tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. Then, just as slowly, she untied her robe and slipped it off her shoulders. As he watched, it slid down her body, pooling on the floor at her feet. The hair clip fell from her fingers, bouncing silently and coming to rest on the bed of satin, next to her ankle. Joe's eyes traveled up her body, drinking in every inch of her beautiful skin... sweeping over every soft curve and hollow like a lover's caress. When his eyes finally reached her face, the promise in hers sent his heart leaping into his throat.

Naked, her eyes locked on his, Maggie began to slowly close the distance between them. As she neared, he wanted to reach out to her and pull her into his arms, but he was mesmerized -- he couldn't move... couldn't breathe... could only watch her.

Slowly, almost reverently, she lifted her hands and laid them against his chest. They lingered only a moment over the frantic pounding of his heart, before slipping under the fabric of his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders and down his arms. The sensation of her fingertips brushing lightly down his skin sent a shiver through him, and goosebumps broke out across his burning flesh.

Joe was reeling. He wasn't even touching Maggie -- wasn't moving at all -- but just watching the slow, fluid motion of her hands and body as she undressed first herself, then him, was so erotic, that it was pushing him dangerously close to the point of no return. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get control of his body before it was too late.

Maggie was reeling, too. She was riding along the edge of her own orgasm, desperately trying to keep it at bay a little longer by taking things slowly. She was grateful that Joe was remaining pliant under her hands, because she was terrified that if he did so much as touch her or speak her name, her orgasm would explode through her before she had been given a chance to please him.

And she did want to please him...

With his eyes closed now, Maggie was able to gaze at him to her heart's content. This was a new experience -- being able to look her fill without him seeing her do it. She was certain that he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He was so perfect, so strong, so masculine... so completely out of her league...

Silently, she knelt down before him, her trembling hands reaching out to unfasten his jeans.

Before they had a chance to reach their destination, Joe felt the whisper of Maggie's warm breath against his belly. His eyes flew open as he realized what she meant to do.

Trembling, his hands quickly shot out and seized her wrists, holding them away from him as he swayed on his feet.

Maggie wasn't that easily dissuaded. She pressed her face forward and brushed her lips against his skin, just under his navel.

"Maggie, don't!" he gasped.

Pushing her back, he released her suddenly, and fell to his knees in front of her. His head was hanging down, and he was shaking all over as he breathed in great gulps of air.

Maggie couldn't wait for him. This was torture, and she felt like she would lose her mind if it went on any longer.

Taking matters into her own hands, she leaned forward and threw her arms around his shoulders. Holding him tightly, she fell backward, pulling him down on top of her.

"Please..." she begged, running her hands down his back and pushing frantically against the waistband of his pants. "Please..."

The feel of his weight pressing down on her was almost her undoing... and the feel of her naked body beneath him was almost his.

As soon as her hands slid down his back, freeing him slightly from her fierce embrace, Joe quickly used his right hand to leverage himself up and away from her. His left hand flew down between their bodies, shaking as he frantically tried to unfasten his pants. Maggie was still pushing insistently against his waistband with her hands, twisting against him. When his jeans finally gave way, her efforts grew more frenzied, pushing his briefs down over his hips with them.

At the first touch of his naked flesh, Maggie wrapped her arms and legs around him and pulled him closer, lifting her hips until he was nestled tightly against the incredible wetness between her thighs.

Joe suddenly pressed down hard against her, pinning her so that she couldn't move. His forehead was pressed against hers... his hair brushing against her cheeks as he shook.

"Joe," Maggie managed to gasp, still holding him as tight as she could, "are you alright?"

He lifted his head and met her eyes. If she had been standing, the look on his face would have sent her to her knees. It was pure desire -- undiluted by the polite veneer of civilization or the taint of guilt -- and having it directed at her was intoxicating. But what was utterly devastating was the dawning realization that Joe was holding that desire in check... and that he was doing it for her... to please her.

She suddenly understood why people were willing to throw everything away, and sacrifice themselves on the altar of love. As frightening as it was, it now made perfect sense to her. The insight was overwhelming, and she felt the sting of tears behind her eyes.

"Yes," Joe finally reassured her, even managing a wobbly smile. "I'm fine."

Still holding her immobile beneath him, he slid his trembling hands up the sides of her body and under her shoulders, and plunged his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck. With Maggie's head cupped in his hands, and his eyes locked on hers, Joe slowly lowered his mouth to hers.

"Maggie?" he whispered. His lips were barely touching hers, brushing back and forth over her mouth in the softest of kisses, as he pulled his hips slowly back.

Though her reason was fast deserting her, she understood his unspoken question. "Yes," she answered, straining toward him, her eyes pleading with him, her open mouth and body beckoning him.

He hesitated only a moment, then his lips locked onto hers, and plunging his tongue into her mouth, he slid slowly into her.

The intensity of his sensual onslaught was more than Maggie could take. Her world spun off its axis and hurtled into space, leaving nothing behind but his mouth, his tongue, his heat, his size... and her climax.

Joe felt it immediately... felt her body grasping him tightly, pulling him deeper, again and again, as she shuddered and shook endlessly beneath him. The intensity of her orgasm sang through his body, but though it took every last bit of his evaporating self-control, he waited until the ripples had begun to subside before he unleashed his own. Still holding her head in his hands, he pulled back, and plunged into her again, hard and fast this time. He came so quickly and so violently that the power of it hit him like an earthquake, racking his body with a series of devastating aftershocks.

Maggie held fast to him as he bucked against her over and over again -- reveling in the knowledge that he was feeling what she had just experienced -- when her body suddenly began to tighten and her breath to quicken, taking her by surprise.

Joe, still in the throes of his own climax, seemed to realize what was happening before she did. Sliding his fingers from her hair, he quickly reached down and grabbed hold of her hips, grinding his own hard against her. She made a startled little sound in the back of her throat as her second orgasm flooded over her in hot waves.

Shaking, her arms and legs fell away from Joe, landing limply on the floor beside her. A long sigh escaped her lips, then her eyes fluttered closed, as she lay there, spent.

After he had recovered and his breathing had slowed to normal, Joe picked up Maggie's right hand and pressed a kiss into her palm, then laid it gently back down beside her. He rolled carefully off of her and got to his feet, pulling up his briefs.

Maggie's eyes slowly opened, looking at him questioningly.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her words slow and slurred.

"To bed," Joe answered, arching an eyebrow as he flashed a wicked smile down at her.

"That sounds wonderful," she sighed, punctuating the sentiment with a very unladylike yawn.

As her eyes fluttered closed again, the last thing she said before she fell asleep was, "If I could get up, I'd go with you."

13.

Though her sleepy declaration was delivered very solemnly, something about it struck Joe as hysterically funny. If she hadn't fallen fast asleep as soon as the words left her mouth -- and looking down at her, he could see that she had -- he would have burst out laughing.

That surprised him... When was the last time he'd really laughed, or even wanted to? He honestly couldn't remember, but he was pleased to see that his dry spell was apparently over.

He felt good. Damn good...

Until, that is, he glanced down and noticed his jeans bunched around his calves, and the toes of his boots peeking out underneath.

What the hell had gotten into him, he wondered, that he'd been in such an all-fired rush that he hadn't managed to get his damn boots off first? It wasn't like he was some 15-year old virgin, for chrissakes. He was going on thirty, and he'd definitely seen more than his fair share of action...

Just then, Maggie rolled over in her sleep, and curled up on her side facing him. As he looked at her, Joe's eyes moved from her face -- now nestled on that outrageous pile of curls he had buried his hands in minutes before -- along the line of her neck, up to the smattering of freckles on her exposed shoulder. From there, they followed the curve of her body down to her waist, up over her hip, and along her right leg... all the way to the toes of her tiny right foot.

"Her legs are a lot stronger than they look," he thought to himself, remembering how tightly they had gripped him, "but she is a dancer, after all..."

As he felt himself begin to swell and harden, he had the answer to his question: Maggie. Maggie had gotten into him, that's what; and even just lying there, sleeping like a baby, she was somehow managing to do it again. He felt an almost irresistible urge to kneel down, roll her onto her back, and...

"What the fuck?" he thought to himself. "Exercise a little self-control, would ya? She's sleeping, not to mention that your damn boots are still on! Jesus!"

Continuing to chastise himself for his lack of discipline, he reached down and pulled up his jeans, zipping them with enough force to send a clear message to the one part of his anatomy that seemed impervious to shaming.

Thusly corralled, he felt it was reasonably safe to look at Maggie again. When he did, his eyes were drawn to her arms, which were curled up tightly to her body, as though she was cold. In the process, he also couldn't help but notice her cleavage, and the way her arms were pressed against her breasts...

"Here we go again!" he thought, mentally throwing his hands up in defeat.

He really, really didn't want to wake her, but the sooner he got her into bed and under a blanket, the better. After all, he didn't want her catching a chill...

"Yeah, right," he muttered to himself, under his breath. "Whatever you say, buddy."

And for the second time in ages, Joe felt like laughing out loud.

But he didn't. Instead, he crouched down and kissed Maggie on her freckled shoulder. When she stirred, he made his move. Rolling her gently onto her back, he leaned over and whispered something in her ear.

"Hug me, Maggie."

Without even opening her eyes, Maggie wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted herself up, pressing her forehead against his cheek.

Joe quickly scooped her up into his arms, and turned toward the back corner of her apartment, and her bed.

As he began to carry her there, Maggie tipped her head back from his cheek, and looked up at him. Joe noticed that as sleepy as she looked, she also looked surprised. He reacted with a very self-satisfied smile.

"Don't look so surprised," he said, grinning down at her. "What? You didn't think I could carry you?"

When she opened her mouth to answer him, he noticed that she wasn't smiling, so he interrupted her.

"Be careful how you answer that," he admonished her with mock severity. "You don't want to hurt my feelings."

"No," Maggie said, still not smiling. "It's not that."

When she didn't say anything else, Joe stopped -- stopped dead in his tracks, and stopped smiling.

"What?" he asked, searching her face. She looked so serious... "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she answered.

"Then what is it?" he persisted.

Maggie paused, and Joe was suddenly convinced that she'd decided not to answer him at all. But after thinking for a moment, she pulled herself closer to him, whispered something softly in his ear, and buried her face in his neck.

"I didn't quite get that," he said, growing more concerned. "What did you say? Maggie? What is it? Tell me what you said."

Still hiding her face in his neck, she answered him, her voice barely louder than a whisper, but still loud enough for him to hear... and to understand.

"I said...'You're still here.'"

14.

Maybe Joe was losing his mind, but of all the things Maggie could have possibly said to him at that moment -- that her husband was due home any minute, that she had a sexually transmitted disease, that his hair was on fire -- "you're still here" was the scariest. Scary, because he had no idea what she meant by it. Did she think his still being there was a good thing, or a bad thing? He didn't have a clue, but he wasn't about to ask her. The truth is, he didn't want to know. Something about being with her made him feel so good, and he wasn't willing to let go of that feeling yet. He wasn't satisfied. He wanted more. Even though he knew he was being incredibly selfish, he didn't really care whether she wanted him there or not. He was desperate to stay, so if saying that was her polite way of telling him to leave, he wasn't going to let her off the hook that easily. If she wanted him gone, she was going to have to come right out and say so. Until she did, Joe decided to give her every reason in the world to want him to stay.

His mind made up, he started for her bed again, intending to tuck her in, and hold her while she finished the nap he had interrupted. Stepping up onto the dais, he leaned down, so that she could reach the bed.

"Pull the covers down," he gently bade her.

Even though her face was still buried in his neck, Maggie already knew where they were before he spoke. The instant she felt him step up, her heart started pounding in anticipation; and when he bent over her bed, she came fully awake in a flash, all of her senses hyperaware, every cell in her body vibrating excitedly, preparing her for him. But despite her physical reaction -- or maybe because of it -- she knew that she couldn't make love to him again. She was already in way over her head. As it was, sending him away was going to kill her, but she meant to put a stop to this madness right now, before she got in any deeper. She'd made one fatal error. She wasn't about to make a second.

He wouldn't be joining her in her bed, not on this night, or any other. Wanting him as badly as she did, it wasn't an easy decision, but she forced herself to make it. Her body rebelled against her resolve, torturing her with images of his lovemaking, still fresh in her mind. Her heart twisted in protest and a lump rose in her throat, choking off her breath, but she wouldn't relent. It was better this way. Better for her. Better for both of them.

Slipping her hand away from his neck, she reached back blindly and grabbed the covers, lifting them. The moment he set her down, she would cover herself, then tell him in no uncertain terms that it was time for him to go.

As Joe released her, he felt the change in her body, and the earth tilted sickeningly beneath him. She had gone rigid, as though she was steeling herself against an impending blow. He straightened up and watched as she pulled the blankets up to her chest protectively, refusing to meet his eyes. His worst fears were about to be confirmed, and he felt like his guts were being kicked out. He wasn't stupid. He knew that she wanted him, but he also knew what was coming. Maggie was sitting there, head bowed, twisting the edge of the blanket in her hands, screwing up the courage to tell him to go fuck himself. What he didn't know was why, and that pissed him off.

Two seconds ago, if he had seen her like this, so obviously distraught, he would have moved heaven and earth to make it better for her. But that was then. That was before he realized what she was about to do. He wouldn't help her now. She was on her own.

"Joe?" she said, her voice sounding strange to his ears... tinny, shaky, uncertain. "You know what I'm going to say... don't you?"

He didn't answer her. He wasn't going to make this easy for her. If she couldn't be bothered to look him in the eye while she did this to him, then he couldn't be bothered to acknowledge her. Backing up, he leaned casually against her dresser, striking a pose of indifference as he folded his arms over his chest, and stared at the wall behind her. "Let her sweat," he thought bitterly.

Maggie waited for Joe to answer her. When he didn't, she took his silence as affirmation. He knew, alright. She was sure of it.

The moment she realized that he did, her mind slipped sideways, and she imagined what she would be feeling right then if the roles were reversed. Rejection... anger... confusion... sadness... maybe even hate.

She couldn't think about it... couldn't feel sorry for him, because if she did, she wouldn't be able to go through with it. Besides, there was no reason to. It was wishful thinking to imagine that he could feel the same way about her as she did about him. Wishful thinking came at a premium, and she had paid that price before. It was too steep. She couldn't afford it. She mustn't ever forget that.

She didn't want to hurt him, but she knew that she had to, in order to save herself. It was that simple... and that horrible.

Raising her head to look at him, she began.

"Joe, look at me," she commanded, sounding strong and confident.

The change in her voice demolished any hope he might have had that he could be wrong about what was happening. "Here it comes," he thought. He pushed himself away from the dresser, and planted his feet firmly apart. He was ready to get this over with. He could take it. He tipped his chin down, his eyes challenging hers as they met.

Now that she had his attention, Maggie took a breath, ready to continue. But ignoring her clear commands, and acting under some other influence, her body staged a full mutiny. To her utter shock, her arms threw the blankets away, as her legs propelled her up from the bed and into his arms, where she stood shaking.

If Joe hadn't seen it himself, he would never have believed it, not in a million years. But he had seen it.

There had been no mistaking what she was thinking when their eyes met -- she was bound and determined to tell him goodbye. It was written all over her face. Then something miraculous had happened. From where he stood, it looked like someone had thrown her out of the bed, and at him. He had watched as her eyes widened in surprise and fear, and then she was there, naked against him. It all had happened so fast that he barely had enough time to brace himself and open his arms to catch her.

Maggie's shakes were subsiding. Looking down at her furrowed brow, he could see that she was concentrating, and he guessed that she was replaying the scene in her mind, just as he was, trying to understand it. Her hands were balled up into fists against his chest, but she wasn't pushing him away. She was letting him hold her, and for now, that was good enough for him.

After a while, she looked up at him, her expression an equal mix of fear, awe and bewilderment.

"What happened just now?" she asked him.

"I don't know... honestly," he answered her, shaking his head.

"This is crazy," she said, daring him to disagree. "It doesn't make any sense."

"Probably not," he replied, tilting his head to the side, "but I don't care."

"Then I'm dreaming this?" she asked, reaching her hand up and laying it against his cheek.

Joe laid his hand over hers and dragged it to his mouth, leaving her fingertips against his lips, exactly where she had touched him for the first time.

"No," he said, reaching out and touching her lips in the same spot, "We are."

15.

Spellbound by his sense of romantic ritual and the tenderness of his reply, Maggie was filled with such an intense longing for him that she could hardly breathe. She closed her eyes, trying with all her might to burn every detail of the moment into her memory -- the expression on his face, the light in his eyes, the feel of his fingertips on her lips, the smell of his skin, the warmth of his body... and the aching need in her own. She had never experienced anything this powerful, and fervently believed she never would again. She wished with all her heart that she could stop time, and stay forever suspended in this moment with him -- the moment when she finally let herself believe what she wanted to believe -- that he might possibly want her as much as she wanted him.

With that wish -- flung so carelessly into the void -- Maggie's seduction was completed, and her fate sealed. Joe Perry -- a man she had just met, and knew virtually nothing about -- had won her body and her heart, and entrapped her mind. Without these allies, she knew that any further resistance she might offer would be doomed to failure. In a scant few hours, this singular man had invaded her kingdom, demolished her elaborately-constructed defenses, overthrown her system of self-governance, and installed emotional anarchy in its place. Everywhere she looked was chaos and uncertainty. Nothing in the landscape seemed familiar to her, not even herself. All of the good and urgent arguments for why this couldn't be happening, and mustn't be allowed to continue, lost their force. There was no cover to hide behind, no signpost to point the way, no compass to provide direction. There was only Joe, standing among the ruins of what used to be her life.

He had no consciousness of her reasons, but Joe could tell that Maggie was unsettled by what was happening between them. He wanted to say something to convince her that her fears were without foundation, but he couldn't find the words. All of this was so new, and he wasn't sure himself how it would ultimately play out. The mysterious magic of the chemistry between them was something he couldn't begin to understand, much less explain to her; but where she responded with fear, he responded with exhilaration. He felt newly alive, like a man waking from a long coma... and with the appetites to match. He had never in his life wanted anyone or anything more than he wanted her in that moment; and whether she liked it or not, she wanted him, too -- of that there could be no doubt.

Until he could find the words to convince her, he would have to let his body plead his case.

Pulling his fingers away from her lips, he took her hand in his once again. Maggie watched in confusion as he lead it away from his face, and placed it on the dresser behind him. She looked back up at him questioningly, her eyes following him as he stepped around and behind her. He nudged her forward and away from him, until he wasn't touching her at all. She looked over her shoulder at him, her face betraying her disappointment, a question forming on her lips.

"No, don't look at me," he said, brushing her hair to the side, and draping it over her shoulder. Still, Maggie couldn't take her eyes off of him. He nodded toward the dresser, but she continued to stare at him, her eyes begging him for an explanation. Taking her head in his hands, he gently but forcibly turned her face away from him, toward the mirror.

"Don't look at me... Look at us," he instructed her, pulling his hands away.

Maggie did as she was told. The reflection she confronted sent a stab of lust deep into her, making her grip the edge of the dresser with both hands. Joe was standing behind her and slightly to one side, looking over her shoulder and watching her in the mirror, his eyes blazing as they moved hungrily over her naked reflection. He wasn't touching her at all, but everywhere his eyes traveled, her skin burned in response. When they raked across her breasts, her nipples instantly hardened; and when they dipped lower, lingering on the triangle of strawberry curls at the juncture of her thighs, her lips swelled painfully as her body answered him with a sudden flood of wet heat, making her moan breathlessly.

The unmistakable sound of her yearning reached Joe's ears. His eyes flew up and met hers in the mirror, impaling her on his hot gaze. The fire scorched her soul. She quickly squeezed her eyes shut, before she could be consumed.

"Open your eyes, Maggie," Joe commanded hoarsely.

She just couldn't. She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

Joe stepped closer to her, still not touching her, but just barely.

"Open your eyes," he insisted, his breath warm against her ear, sending a shiver through her. "Look at us."

Gripping the edge of the dresser so hard that her knuckles turned white, Maggie braced herself and opened her eyes, locking gazes with him in the mirror. The fire in his eyes burned even brighter, but Maggie could no longer close her eyes to shield herself from it. She felt as though he was exerting some kind of hypnotic power over her, holding her prisoner to his will. She whimpered, wordlessly pleading with him to relieve the fever that was tormenting her... or to release her from his control.

As if to answer her, Joe slowly dragged the fingertips of his left hand up the middle of her naked back, recklessly pouring gasoline on the fire he had started. Maggie began to tremble, her head falling forward as she leaned on the dresser for support. His hand continued undaunted on its slow trek, sliding under her hair and around her throat, tipping her chin up until her eyes were forced to meet his once more in the mirror. He bent forward then, his chest almost touching her back, his face next to hers.

"Don't close your eyes," he whispered in her ear, his eyes still holding hers captive.

Maggie opened her mouth, intending to beg him to end her sweet agony, but before she could form the words, he bowed his head and pressed his lips to her neck. She watched in the mirror as the hand that had been around her throat slid down across her chest, his fingers finding their way unerringly to her erect nipple. This was the first time Joe had touched her there, and she sucked her breath in hard at the new sensation, encouraging him. Joe reacted immediately. His right arm reached around her and hauled her back against his chest, holding her tightly as his mouth suckled her neck, matching the rhythm of his fingers, which were rubbing lightly across the peak of her breast.

Maggie's arms had fallen away from the dresser, and she used them now to reach behind her back, and insinuate her hands between their bodies. If this was his idea of foreplay, she was a dead woman. He was hard, and she was long-past ready. Thrusting her chest out, she arched her body away from him, trying desperately to reach the zipper of his jeans.

"Oh, no you don't," Joe said as he tightened his hold on her, trapping her hands between the two of them. As he checkmated her, Maggie groaned pitifully in frustration.

He lifted his head from her neck, his eyes finding hers in the mirror. "Not this time..."

"This time, I drive."

16.

Miles away in Culver City, Ben Martin was seriously considering the question of exactly what kind of driver Joe Perry was.

It had been well over an hour since Joe had grabbed the keys to his baby -- a '66 Mustang he had bought on a whim and fully restored as a 40th birthday present to himself -- and gone chasing after the redhead. Ben hadn't even noticed when she left. By the time he realized what was happening, and tried to follow, Joe and the Mustang were out of sight. Out of sight, but still close enough to assault his ears with the screeching of tires taking a corner too damn fast. HIS tires. The sound had an affect on him like nails on a chalkboard, only far less pleasant. For about ten seconds Ben had gleefully plotted revenge, in the preferred form of wringing Joe's neck. But the fantasy didn't take. As he absently turned Joe's wallet over in his hands, Ben knew he had every right to be furious at the younger man -- who was out there somewhere, driving his baby without permission AND without a license on his person -- but he wasn't.

Ben had been married twice. He always told people that he married too young the first time, and that the second time, his wife made the exact same stupid mistake. Neither explanation was really the whole truth. The fact of the matter was, Ben had a thing for tall, leggy blondes, and managed to fall ass-over-tea kettle in lust with a never-ending series of them. Whenever one of these objects of his affection wanted to take the relationship to the next level, Ben always obliged. It wasn't that he was casual about marriage -- far from it. It was just that he was always so grateful when a knockout wanted to be with him -- an average-looking guy with tons of personality -- that he thought it would be rude to deny said knockout anything that was within his power to grant. But because the universe came from the factory with a wicked sense of irony installed standard, his predilection for generosity -- which these same women considered such an endearing quality in the beginning -- inevitably became the source of friction in his relationships.

"Ben, you're too easy-going."

"Ben, why do you let people take advantage of you?"

"Ben, why did you give that money to your family?"

"Ben, what about me?"

Between his two marriages, and all of the relationships between them and since, he'd heard it all; and it all boiled down to one obvious conclusion: he hadn't married for love, and neither had either of his wives.

Although Ben's track record with the institution of marriage might have seemed to the casual observer to indicate a lack of understanding about love and romance, the opposite was true. One good way to find out what something is, is to find out what it's not; and on that score, Ben was pretty far along in his research, by anyone's standard. Maybe that was why he wasn't angrier at Joe for semi-stealing his car. Even from his poor vantage point, a good twelve feet away from them, and behind a camera rig, he'd seen enough to know immediately that those two -- Joe and Maggie -- had some kind of spark jumping between them. The romantic in him was dying to know where Joe was, and how he was faring.

The director in him, on the other hand, had more pragmatic concerns. Ben-the-director was dying to see if the cameras had captured the same strong vibe he'd sensed. And so, even though he could have called for a car and gone his own way for the night (like everyone else), he was sitting in the editing room at LSN, waiting for an enterprising young intern (who hadn't minded the overtime one bit) to finish prepping the rushes from the day's shoot and return with them.

Thinking about what he was waiting to see, Ben had to admit that there was one more very good reason he couldn't be angry at Joe about the car. That reason was fundamental fairness. Ben more than deserved to have his baby joy-ridden all over L.A., because Ben had lied and deceived his principal actor.

During their last meeting about the concept for the video, Joe had been perfectly clear about what he wanted, and Ben had been perfectly willing to shoot the video as its star envisioned it. Joe's concept was a simple one, but effective. Boy meets guitar, boy falls in love with guitar, boy gets guitar... enter succession of female temptresses, all to be summarily rejected by boy in favor of boy's first true love -- the guitar. And framing the video as an unedited shot with a single camera? Well, it would definitely give the piece a stripped-down feel, and that's what Joe seemed to think his fans would approve of. That being the case, Ben had green-lighted the concept, and made plans to shoot the video strictly by the numbers -- Joe's numbers.

Then something interesting had happened... the redhead.

She wasn't a dancer. Well she was that, obviously, but that wasn't most or all of what she was as far as Ben was concerned. To him, she was a fascinating paradox -- a person who made her living performing, and yet apparently had no innate ability to conceal anything. That girl was an open book, like none he'd ever seen before. He'd first zeroed in on her when she came in through the back door of the soundstage, and instead of joining the pack of dancers -- instead of engaging in the expected networking and glad-handing with her professional peers -- she had somehow managed to be right there with the group, without being assimilated into it. He had watched her as she stood on the stage with the others, taking in their physical appearances and listening to their conversations. Even though he couldn't hear a word of what was being said, and couldn't see the faces of most of the girls, he had known what they were talking about, and which ones were the traditional beauties. All of this and more, just from watching Maggie's face and noting her reactions -- none of which revealed any of the usual competitive cattiness so common in female performers.

It was damn interesting, to say the least, and it had given him an idea too good to ignore.

The idea? Let Maggie's face narrate the story; and not just the story he and Joe had agreed upon, but the back-story, too.

Unfortunately, it was an idea he didn't think Joe would grasp; or if he did grasp, would approve of in the abstract. So Ben had kept his own counsel, made up his own mind, and broken the cardinal rule of show business (hell, of any business) -- deliver the product you promise. He had, instead, gone rogue with his alternate vision. It wasn't easy, but while the dancers were being outfitted in wardrobe, and while Joe was away from the set doing the same thing, Ben had gotten the crew together, and quickly convinced them to do it his way, and to do it on the sly. Additional cameras were loaded with film, their mode lights were unscrewed, their locations were camouflaged, and they were set up to record non-stop from a variety of vantage points... including views from behind the street set on the stage. Yes, it was unethical, but Ben knew he could be trusted not to use the footage in any way that would offend or embarrass the actors... so he went for it.

Impetuous? Maybe. Risky? Probably. Genius? If the intern would get his ass back with the rushes, Ben would have his answer.

While he was impatiently waiting to see the results of his day's work, there was one small matter that made Ben extremely nervous. Maggie had left without signing the amended waiver for the shoot. Actually, she'd made her hasty exit without signing ANY waiver.

While it was customary for cast members to sign waivers before one frame was filmed, Ben's brilliant last-minute vision for the video demanded that special documentary clauses be included in the waiver's language. Having the cast sign one set of waivers at the beginning of the shoot, and another at the end, was bound to raise eyebrows that Ben much preferred stay down where they belonged. He had banked on the likelihood that casually handing out the waivers after the shoot -- as though it had been a detail accidentally overlooked in the hustle and bustle of filming -- wouldn't set off anyone's alarm bells, and that no one would bother to read the fine print at the end of a long shooting day. To make that happen, another enterprising intern (one with an unauthorized car parked in a reserved spot close by) had been sent off to LSN's Office of Standards and Practices to sweet-talk the legal staff into doing a rush job on a new set of waivers. He'd also been told to hold those waivers back until Ben gave the signal to "stumble across" them.

That is exactly what had happened. S&P had come through, and the intern had returned, standing ready to unearth the forgotten waivers at the opportune moment.

Everything had gone as Ben planned... until Maggie stumbled into Joe.

That was something no director, not even a genius-in-the-rough like Ben, could have anticipated. She was a dancer, after all, so who could have guessed that she would lose her footing right out of the gate? But lose her footing she did. Ben had been thrilled when it happened. Thrilled, because the obvious chemistry between her and Joe had been volatile, more so than he could have ever hoped for in a million years. Thrilled, because he had gotten every little bit of those 45-or-so seconds on film, and from about a dozen more choice angles than Joe's single-camera setup would have permitted. Thrilled, because what had unfolded in those seconds provided the perfect dénouement for both the story AND the back-story. What had happened explained perfectly -- and in a universal language anyone, no matter their mother tongue, could understand -- everything that went before it.

But as things stood right then, Ben didn't have a legal right to use any of it, no matter how incredible it might look on the rushes he was waiting so impatiently to see.

In some unknown location in the naked city were two people, each of whom had something Ben desperately wanted.

The first was Joe Perry, the man who had kidnapped his automotive dream girl... his beloved '66 Mustang.

The second was Maggie... Maggie...

Ben picked up the headshot on top of the pile -- the very same one he'd been staring at off-and-on over the last hour -- and scanned the cover letter beneath, looking for a last name.

"Blakeney," he read aloud, "Magdelaine P. Blakeney."

The second person who had something Ben desperately wanted was Maggie Blakeney, the redheaded paradox who had inspired him to turn the video's concept inside-out, had skipped out on his shoot without signing a waiver, and thus had left Ben in the excruciating position of anticipating a masterpiece that no one might ever see.

Ben, the car-buff-slash-director, wanted to know where the two of them were, and wanted to know right now...

Ben-the-romantic, on the other hand, didn't care one bit where they were... so long as they were together.

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TO BE CONTINUED...

Shooting Star is a labor of lust and a work of fiction, as well as a work-in-progress.
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Copyright ©2003 Tammy Talpas and templeofaero.com. All rights reserved.