Winter Jacket: Finding Home (20 page)

I absently pulled a leather harness from the drawer. It had been some time since I’d used a strap-on on anybody, but I supposed it was like riding a bicycle—my muscle memory would eventually take over.

“If you’re into something a little less conventional there’s probably a room for that particular kink,” Jasmine noted. “But I tend to shy away from anything that might leave a mark. For us actors and models, our bodies are our paycheck, after all.”

I made a noise and returned the nylon harness back to its drawer.

Jasmine shrugged out of her black sheer robe, and left it to pool at her ankles. A black bra cut across her flawless back. Her breasts threatened to fall out of the demi cups of the flimsy lace undergarment. Her black underwear covered most of her backside and attractively framed the taut globes.

Her body was fit and disciplined. There were no signs of excess or a lack of control written on her figure. There were no visible flaws, no blemishes, as though her body itself had been subjected to a graphic designer’s photoshopping tools.

It was then that I realized we had collected a group of admirers who watched from a viewing area above. I wondered if completely private rooms existed, but I doubted that I’d become a regular at this club to find out. I wasn’t much of an exhibitionist, but it also didn’t bother me. If anything, it made the moment less intimate, which suited me just fine. This wasn’t about romance or courtship or getting to know you better.

Jasmine noticed my stare. “When you have to fight to keep your life private for the sake of your career, these semi-public moments are wildly erotic,” she explained.

I could understand the thrill and attraction well.

“So what do you think?” she asked, hands on her hips. “Too out of your comfort zone?”

I sank down on the edge of the mattress. It was surprisingly cushioned. “You might not believe it, but this used to be my comfort zone.” I ran my hand over the silken sheets. “I used to
live
in this zone.”

“Oh, really?”

“I’d have you on hands and knees, and your hands would be bound together in front of you as if prayer.” I released a wistful sigh. “You’d call me Professor, and you wouldn’t cum until I gave you permission to do so.”

“Wow.” Jasmine blinked. “I-I had no idea.”

“Never judge a book by its cover.”

“I guess not,” she said with a rueful shake of her head. “So what happened? What changed?”

“I met a girl.”

“Is this the girl Lucy told me about?”

I nodded. “But we broke up, and now I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“Don’t you think the best way to get over her is to get back on the horse? Metaphorical of course,” she laughed.

I stood and tugged at the knotted rope at one of the mattress’s bedposts. “Normally that’s exactly what I would do. Find myself someone beautiful and uncomplicated. Something empty and meaningless.” I shot a smile in her direction. “No offense.”

She returned my smile. “None taken.”

“I don’t think this will ever be me anymore.”

“My loss,” Jasmine sighed.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I didn’t mean to waste your time.”

“It’s not so bad. No one’s been real with me in a while. It’s kind of refreshing.”

I stuck my hand out in parting. “Thanks for being so understanding, Jasmine. You really are lovely.”

She took my hand and gently squeezed. “I hope you’re able to figure things out soon. And when you do,” she winked, “you have my number. Professor.”

+ + +

The way I saw it, I had two options. I could become that self-destructive person who drank and fucked around too much. Or I could throw myself into work and pour my overflowing emotions into my writing. At least something productive would come from my heartache. But I’d never been very good at doing the sensible thing—not when it came to my heart.

In the weeks that followed, life fell into a routine. Most days I spent within the four walls of the writer’s room except for the occasional coffee breaks or lunch at the studio commissary. Weekends were the worst. Troian and Nikole were busy finalizing wedding details. I’d been invited along to things like cake tastings and picking out paper stock for place settings, but I’d felt like a third wheel even before Hunter had broken up with me. And truth be told, spending so much time with the happy couple made me realize how utterly alone I was.

I was happy for my friends, obviously, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to a modicum of jealousy. I wanted what Troian had—not Nikole specifically—but I wanted to have that stability and unconditional love. I’d thought that’s where Hunter and I had been heading, but now I was back to square one.

I stood outside of the writer’s trailer, taking a mental break after a particularly aggressive brainstorming session that had split the writing staff. We were introducing the Hunter-mutant character as a love interest in my episode in order to divide the viewing audience and incite fandom, but in the process we had also divided the writers. Unexpectedly, our morning meeting had been spent debating which couple—Paige and her boyfriend, Andrew, or Paige and Hunter— would be End Game.

I found the whole debate relatively humorous and pointless, especially knowing that my episode might not ever see the light of day. That same night was the premier of the pilot, and depending on how viewers responded to this episode and the following three would determine if our silly little show about humans and mutants in high school would be picked up for a full season.

I leaned against the side of the metal trailer and closed my eyes. Morning sun had warmed the aluminum siding and I felt its reassuring heat on my back through my layers of clothing. The sun was always out in southern California.

In the Midwest, the grass would be browning and leaves would be changing colors. But in the blacktop jungle of Los Angeles there were no seasons to mark the passage of time. Maybe that was the secret to eternal youth—if you didn’t acknowledge that summer had faded into fall, you had no reason to grow older.

“Hi, Elle.”

I opened my eyes at the call of my voice. The woman wore the costume of one of the mutant characters, but the bright overhead sun had blackened my vision so it took a moment longer for my eyes to readjust enough that I could recognize her face.

“Hey, Lucy.” I hadn’t seen her since our encounter at Batch 19 and then Nightshade. Working on my episode had kept me isolated in the writer’s trailer rather than on the shooting set with the rest of the cast.

“What did you do to Jasmine?”

I pushed off the side of the trailer and straightened. “What?”

Lucy folded her arms across her chest. “She can’t stop talking about you.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I denied.

“Jasmine is the most jaded, blasé person I know in a city full of cynical assholes,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. “You did something.”

In the days after the club, I had received a number of text messages from Jasmine, all asking the same thing:
What are you doing tonight, Professor? Hopefully me ;)

Despite the numerous invitations, I hadn’t gone back to the club, and I hadn’t responded to any of Jasmine’s messages. I knew if we ever met up again at Nightshade I would enjoy myself, but I also knew it was dangerous—a slippery slope I’d experienced before.

“Weren’t you the one who said what happens in Nightshade stays in Nightshade?” I countered.

“Oh ho ho,” Lucy chuckled, looking amused. “Is that so?”

“What are you doing on our side of the lot?” I asked, re-directing the conversation. “Aren’t you shooting today?”

Lucy’s eyes never left mine. “We’re taking a break so the technical crew can set up the special effects for the next scene.”

“Have you gotten to breathe fire yet?” I grinned.

“No. Think you can do something about that?”

I held up my hands. “You should ask Jane; I’m just a lowly writer.”

Lucy snorted. “And owe her a favor? I wanna look cool on screen, but not
that
badly.”

The network continued to be stingy about expensive computer graphics. I hoped that after the pilot aired and we found an audience, they would open up the coffers.

“Are you watching the pilot tonight?”

“I actually hate watching myself act,” Lucy admitted. “It’s weird, I know.”

“I’m actually the same way, but with my writing,” I empathized. “Once it gets published, I never look at it again.”

“I was thinking about going to Nightshade tonight to keep my mind off the pilot. You wouldn’t want to come along, would you?” Her genial smile turned into a lascivious leer. “I could ask Jasmine to meet up with us.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m going to have to pass.”

“Suit yourself,” she shrugged. “If you change your mind though, you should come on by.” She glanced once at her phone. “Damn it. I should be getting back on set. See you later.”

Lucy waved as she made her exit just as Troian approached me.

Troian nodded her head in greeting. “She’s been hanging around a lot,” she observed.

I shrugged. “I’m popular these days, what can I say?”

Troian made a noise that let me know my response was inadequate. “And I heard you showed up at the brainstorming session after you went out with her, looking like the walking dead.”

“Has my job performance fallen off, Boss?”

“Don’t get cheeky with me,” Troian scolded. “What’s going on with you?”

“I slipped up, okay?” I scowled.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I almost had sex with one of Lucy’s friends. I wanted something detached and meaningless even if it meant having to take a scalding shower afterwards to scrub away the memory of it.”

“An actress?”

I nodded guiltily.

“Do I know her?”

“You’d recognize her, I’m sure, but you don’t know her personally.”

“I told you to be careful with them. They don’t live in the same world as us mortals.”

“No, I know. Which is why you don’t have to worry about this becoming a thing.”

Troian still looked skeptical, but I couldn’t blame her. I’d acted on a foolish impulse and the meeting had left me feeling more empty and despondent than before.

“What pushed you over the edge? You kept saying it was too soon,” she asked.

“Hunter moved out.”

“You’re not together anymore,” she unnecessarily reminded me. “I don’t know why you’d think she’d keep living at your house, surrounded by your stuff.”

“Well,
I
didn’t think it would happen,” I said, my voice rising in volume and heat. “So it felt like the final nail in the coffin of our relationship.”

The disapproving look on Troian’s face was replaced with sympathy. “I’m sorry, Bookie.”

“I’m sorry, too.” I apologized. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“You’re forgiven,” she said. “I know this hasn’t been exactly what you expected.”

“Let’s talk about something else,” I pled. “Anything.”

“The pilot’s tonight,” she noted. “Are you going to the afterparty?”

“Do I have to?” I practically pouted.

“Do you have something better to do tonight?” she pointed out.

“I guess not.”

A few hours later, I was pulling a flower garnish and oversized fruit slices out of my drink to get to the actual alcohol. The studio had rented a local tiki bar for a low-key afterparty. The décor was obnoxious, but the drinks were free, so I had no complaints. I recognized most people at the party, but I was still too new on staff to know everyone’s name or what their role was on the show. Most of the party seemed to cling to their own people—the cast in a tight, impenetrable circle, and the crew and writers in another. I stood with Troian and Nikole near the front of the bar.

“How long until we know if people liked the pilot?” I asked. It had been hard to sit through the network premier of our show, even though I had had nothing to do with the content of that episode. I couldn’t imagine how hard it would become when shows I had actually been a part of made it on air—if that ever happened.

“The screeners went out to everyone from bloggers to the trade presses last week, but the overnights for the rest of the world will be waiting on my desk in the morning,” Troian said grimly. Out of everyone at the bar, she seemed the most anxious, understandably.

“Wow. So soon?”

“Yeah. But the network won’t make a decision until we’ve been on air for a few weeks.”

Nikole sighed beside me. “Can we talk about something besides the show?” I couldn’t blame her for being bored and frustrated; all we seemed to do lately was talk about work when we were together. It was a safe topic though. When I was thinking about plot lines for future episodes, I wasn’t obsessing about what Hunter was doing at that exact moment and whom she was doing it with.  

My phone had been blowing up all night with congratulatory texts and phone calls about the pilot from everyone whom I’d ever met, except for one person—the only person I really wanted to talk to. But I hadn’t heard from her since she’d told me she was moving out.