Hollywood Ass. (11 page)

“What's up?”

“I don’t know. It just came over me, I started thinking how stupid and immature I’ve been. I’m 32 years old, I don’t want kids, I’m not sure about my marriage and I’m having some kind of career crisis. I’m just so fucked up it’s ridiculous and it really, really hurts.” She dabbed her tears away with a napkin.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. If you feel like you’re not ready to have kids, then you’re simply not ready. Maybe you never want to have kids? Who’s going to force you? And if you’re concerned about your marriage, it’s something you both need to work on. Whether it’s through counseling or just trying to find that spark or level of communication you used to have again, it’s something you have to solve together. Being as talented and successful as you are, there’s no reason for you to be feeling like this. You’re so much better than that.”

B
looked up and rubbed her temples with her fingertips, “Sometimes I’m losing hope. Like there’s no way we’ll patch it up - too much dirty water has passed under the bridge. And saying that you can do what you want with your life is kind of naive, as you’re almost always forced through circumstance. I often feel like that, anyway. It’s like I’m the ball in a pinball machine, not an actual human being.”

I was taken aback by this, was this how bad she saw things? “I think you’re exaggerating a bit, we’re all victims of circumstance, sure, but that’s life. You just need to roll with it and roll with it in a direction you’re comfortable with. You can still guide your own fate.”

“I know you’re right, I’m just saying how I
feel
from time to time. I also know I have lots to be thankful for.”

“I guess we’re just humans adrift in the giant sea of life,” I said in a overly poetic voice to lighten up the situation. We were getting unnecessarily deep and needed a laugh. Which we got.

“You’re such a weirdo. And that’s why I love you, Dar. Such a fucking weirdo.”

She said that at the same time as our eyes met and we both felt it. The moment.

So what happened? Because something happened alright! For an instant I looked into B's shining blue eyes and I felt something. I felt something! Not like an ache or gas or something like that, but something else, something I never thought I’d feel.

Okay, I might as well come out and say it, I felt like kissing her! How the hell did that happen? That would have been the worst thing to come out of anything - overstepping a professional boundary while of course also putting my foot on A's heart.

Imagine what destruction one little kiss can create - a slip of judgment that could haunt you for the rest of your life. One kiss can destroy families, lose jobs and change the lives of many people - possibly ruin them.

One kiss. Think about it.

But how close was it? Did she want me to kiss her? Did I really want to? My mind was buzzing for hours afterwards...

***

The night after
the moment
was strange, anxious and nervous. We both felt awkward and I was increasingly sure she had felt it too, the strong electric current in the air that flowed between us. The taxi ride to the celebrity-prone restaurant we were heading towards, felt long and tense. Luckily, as far as anything lucky can revolve around Julianne, my phone beeped.

“What’s going on? Are you still in Rome?” Julianne shrieked from the other side.

“Yes, we are. Things are okay here. How are you?” I asked, not expecting a reply. I glanced over at
B
, who sat stone-faced next to me.

“I’m dying, Darryl, what do you care?” Julianne coughed, “I actually had an interesting discussion with Paul Berkins, you know the up-and-coming director? He wants to work with her, sounds very interesting. But I can’t be sure, he was quite drunk...and flirtatious.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. To flirt with Julianne you had to be a lot more than
quite
drunk. And I didn’t really know what to make of her rambling, she was usually more to the point than this. Maybe
she
was drunk.

“Let’s talk about it when we’re back in LA, okay?” I had no desire to stay talking to Julianne, despite the tension in the car.

“When
will
you be back? This is getting out of hand. I have so many requests for interviews and appearances I need to reply to asap. Opportunities she can’t miss.”

“I don’t know. She needs time off, she says. What that really means, only she can know. Maybe she’ll be ready to go tomorrow, maybe in a month. I’ll keep you posted. Ciao.”

“But...” and it was my turn to hang up. Believe me, it felt pretty good. And the timing was perfect too, the taxi had stopped and we were outside the restaurant.

We entered through a frosted glass door and came to a sitting room with rustic leather furniture and a fireplace. Two couples were sitting in upholstered chairs, sipping glasses of champagne. They all gave
B
a glance when we entered. They knew who she was, I could tell, not that she wouldn’t get looks even if she weren’t famous in her nude-colored knitted Missoni with generous cleavage, but they knew.

We were greeted
bona sera
by a middle aged woman in a black shirt and a yellow smile. “Come with me,” she said and we followed her down a corridor which led us through another room full of signed celebrity portraits. I thought for a second that
B
must be on that wall, but I didn’t ask. If she wasn’t there, she would be soon.

Suddenly we were out in a large garden, full of tables with white tablecloths and cosy, dampened lighting. Two well-dressed and impeccably groomed men came up to us, showcasing blinding smiles and expressed two extremely drawn-out
booooonnaaaa seeeeraaas.
We smiled back at them and then a short man with a tanned face and soft, chestnut-colored hair, entered the room and walked up to
B
. They embraced and performed the double cheek-kiss maneuver.

“How are you?” he asked her and looked into her eyes. He had natural, easy-going charm, the perfect restauranteur. “I’m fine,” she said, but to my ears it sounded forced and unsure. She wasn’t feeling her best, it was all too obvious.

He shook my hand and showed us to a table. We sat down and I smiled at her, “So you’re up there on the wall as well?”

B
smiled with her eyes elsewhere, “Yes, I’m sure I’m up there somewhere. I at least remember us taking a photo.”

“And you say they have great wines here?” I continued. I was nervous too.

“You know I’m not wine expert, but I can promise you they have LOTS of wines.”

She was right. The wine list was the size of the phone book and they had everything neatly categorized by region. I don’t know if the almost illegible handwritten prices were
meant
to be illegible, but with
B
price was never a problem, so I settled for a 450 euro local wine that sounded interesting. We ordered our starters and fiddled nervously with cutlery and phones for a while. I’d never felt so tense around her and was unsure how to start a conversation, but thankfully she blurted out:

“I need to go to New York, Darryl. I want to work on my marriage. I realize I’ve been acting ridiculous and selfish.”

B
’s decision-making process was run completely by emotions, so I was used to her changing her mind from one day to the next, but this was still completely unexpected. I thought she was having the time of her life here in Rome and that she was far away from wanting to leave. Not that it’s a crazy idea to want to be close to your husband, but I still felt a bit cheated. I was enjoying myself too.

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’ve been thinking a lot and I’m sure.”

I took a sip of wine and let it roll around in my mouth and fill it with happiness. To me, she didn’t look one percent sure, in fact, she looked to be in a state of utter confusion. I couldn’t tell her this though, because I thought she’d made a mature decision and it wasn’t really a decision I could argue with. She wanted to go back to her husband and work on their relationship. Nothing wrong with that, nothing wrong at all. Except for that somewhere inside of me a spark had developed, a spark I had desperately tried to stomp out, but failed to do.

But in the end, it was my job to make sure she was happy and the best way to let her do that was to shut my mouth and leave my feelings aside.

That’s how I felt at that point anyway.

“Okay. Sounds sensible to me. I’ll call the agency and have them book the first plane out. There should probably be something tomorrow afternoon.” I said, trying my best to sound unaffected. But I did feel some kind of lump in my throat.

“Yes, please. Do you think I’m crazy? You give me that look.”

“This is very sane. You want to be with your husband, that’s great news.” I really tried my best, but I couldn’t manage to sound convincing.

“You act strange, Darryl. What is it?”

“I kind of like Rome, I guess.”

“Well, I do too. I had a great time here, but I
really
need to do this. We can go back soon, do a reunion tour.” We both smiled to that, although the smiles had a hint of sadness.

“You know what?”
B
said, changing her tune to something more upbeat, “let’s go out tonight. Let’s have a fun last night in the city we both love.”

I liked the idea. At least one more night before my jolt back to reality. Little did I know what that night had in store.

***

The next day I woke up in bed, naked, a rancid smell of death in my mouth and a throbbing in the back of my skull. I struggled to lean my head over to the side of the bed and saw
B
, sitting on a chair, drinking from a bottle of Perrier and looking at me like I was some kind of circus act.

“How you feelin'?” She asked me, surprisingly chipper in her voice.

“Like death,” I croaked.

“Good. It was worth it though, we had a blast.” She had a mysterious little grin on her face.

“Since I don’t remember much, it sure blasted my brain,” I said and closed my eyes again.

Thoughts which hit me that exact moment:
What happened really? Why am in B's bed? Why the hell am I naked? And why does B have that tilted smile on her face, like she knows something I don't?

I took the bed linen and covered myself while I walked over to the bathroom, feeling a crunch in my head with every step.

“You don't need to cover yourself,” she said and laughed, “I've seen it all.”

“What? What do you mean?” My pulse was accelerating.

“Well, when we got home you were quite cuddly. You undressed and wanted to lie close to me and sleep in my bed. And despite being pretty much unconscious you were dry-humping me for a while before you passed out.”
B
laughed. She thought it was hilarious. I didn’t.

“You’re joking?”

“No. There was only one thing alive on you and it was THAT thing.”
B
’s eyed travel downwards and fastened on where my groin would be, if it wasn’t covered by the bed linen.

“Oh, shit!
B
, I'm so sorry, I don't know what got into me!” Shame flew slam bang into my face like a stray bat.

“Haha, don't worry about it. If I wasn't dead tired or married myself I might have taken you up on the challenge. In another life perhaps.”
B
smiled, not understanding that this wasn’t only my drunken behavior, but
real
feelings. I, who had thought the so called
moment
had affected her the same way it had me, was apparently just a horny moron.

“I must have been very, very drunk.” I said, trying to salvage what sliver of pride was left.

“Yeah, we were both sideways, but it was nice to see you relaxed and outside your super professional box.”

“If that’s what you want to call it, but please tell me we can just forget about this. I'm seriously ashamed by my behavior.” I gave her an honest and sad look.

“Well, you shouldn't be. It was fun and this trip has been really good for me. You’re a great traveling partner, you know. When did you say our plane leaves for New York?”

Oh, I almost forgot
.
New York.

***

B
had promised to meet Matteo for lunch, while I took some well-deserved time off the drama-train to roam the picturesque streets of Rome. I wanted to say goodbye to the city in my own little way: drink a delicious
café,
watch beautiful people walk by me in the streets, and enjoy the feeling of age so deep within the city’s bones. I also wanted to get myself a new notebook, because I had run out of pages in the one I was using. Writing a diary might not be the manliest thing to do, but without it, I couldn’t have told you this story. And I needed it to clear my thoughts.

Heavy rain smattered on the cobblestone as I walked the streets with my sturdy, black hotel umbrella. The rain didn’t bother me, instead it had a slow, soothing effect.

I jumped between shops on Via Condotti and the adjoining shopping streets. I drew in the scent from freshly-baked
foccaccia
through my nostrils and I allowed myself a creamy hazelnut gelato and a steamy espresso in a bar. I was refreshed, my senses had come alive and I had let go of
B
for a while. For a while. Because she was there, somewhere, whispering seductive sentences in the back of my head. I was of course jealous of Matteo being able to capture her glowing attention almost without effort and not happy they were going out for lunch, but I knew there was nothing I could do to stop it. “The night of the hump” had made me understand that I needed to focus on keeping my feelings out of work as much as possible, which meant that for the moment it was better to be alone.

How could I let myself get attracted to my employer? It was the cardinal sin in the assistant’s Bible. I knew the answer of course, the fine line between friendship and work had slowly been erased and it had become too easy to slip over to the other, more personal, side. I realized I had to fix this, that I had to detach myself and float back across the line again, take a large marker and make the line as bold as possible, so as never to be crossed again!