SHOOTING STAR
by Tammy Talpas
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.
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.
-----------------------------------------------
TO BE
CONTINUED...
Shooting Star is a labor of lust and a work of
fiction, as well as a work-in-progress.
To read additional content as it becomes available, please visit BBS.TEMPLEOFAERO.COM.
Copyright
©2003 Tammy Talpas and templeofaero.com. All rights reserved.