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Hello?
“You weren’t ready,” Brandon’s voice is defensive and laced with blame. “I told you it’s hard for a guy to wait, but you… you weren’t ready.”
Ewww
She doesn’t fly. I’m only in the role for a week. She has obligations at home. I rehearse the litany of reasons my mother cannot be here when I need her, like I have many times over the last decade.
Applause. The relief is knee-weakening. I literally have to grab the lead actor John’s arm for support. He doesn’t miss a beat, pulling me into his side and squeezing. “Bravo,” he whispers, a broad, genuine smile spread across his face.
Takira walks up, linking her arm through mine. “Girl, if we don’t get some food,” she whispers.
I can objectively recognize his appeal, even though he’s not my type. Not that I have a type lately. I’m so deep in this dick drought I’m past the point of thirst.
“So, Mr. Holt,” Janie says, all pink and flustered, “I loved your last documentary. I heard you’re working on a movie next. What’s it about?” “It hasn’t been announced.” He truncates the words, his expression shut down. He looks over his shoulder like the restroom might offer an escape from this banality. “Oh, you can tell us,” Janie cajoles. One dark, imperious brow elevates. “But I don’t want to.” Okayyyyy.
Takira’s embroiled in a passionate discussion about Dreamgirls, for some reason.
“You were exceptional on that stage,” he says softly. “The best in the show.” Vines sprout from the sidewalk and wrap around my ankles, trapping me where I stand. Immobile.
A face so expressive it’s like a blank canvas she paints every emotion across in vivid color, in broad strokes.
“I’m here to check on Neevah’s pussy,” Takira says in her professional voice. “The neighbors are concerned. There’s been no sign of activity for months. We’re making sure the cat still purrs.”
“I mean, sure. It’s fine that you called. That he gave you this number. Wright. Monk, I mean. Yes.” Am I Kanye’s Twitter account right now? I’m barely coherent. Good Lord.
What if we… my brain explodes at the thought of sex with that huge man. He would break me. It would be fantastic.
What watermelon truck you fall off, girl? You sound as country as Mississippi. DESSI Alabama, I’ll have you know. TILDA You want this ticket, Bama?
“Neevah,” he says. “It’s Canon.” I know! “Canon, hi.” I will my molecules to stop vibrating and sit on the couch, plunking my bag on the floor.
The Federal Theatre Project was a New Deal stimulus program that funded plays and live performances.” “New Deal as in FDR’s New Deal?” “Yeah. After the Great Depression. It put actors, playwrights, and directors to work.
Dats crazy
And I can’t help but wonder how that hunger would feel in a kiss. Would he crush me against him like we couldn’t get close enough? Like the taste of me was driving him wild? My fingers burn with the need to scrape across his shadowed jaw, to trace his brows and lips.
And this time, now, I don’t wonder if he feels it, too. I know he does. It’s in the way he frowns and his eyes darken and his jaw tightens. It’s like a wavelength between us in the taut silence.
My assistant, Graham, will reach out to you and make the arrangements.” “Oh, Graham, so will he—” “She,” I correct with a smile because everyone assumes that.
Stupid
“Oh.” Her laugh dips low and has me gripping the phone tighter.
CAL Making her debut right here at the Radium Club singing “Body and Soul,” my very good friend who I just met tonight, Odessa Johnson. Dessi gapes at him with a mouthful of grits.
By the end, people are applauding and Cal gives her a hug onstage. Covering her face with both hands, Dessi laughs.
“How much older?” I ask before I can stop myself, and then regret it when his dark, assessing gaze lands on me. “You’re what?” he asks. “Thirty?” “Yeah,” I say. “Same as me,” Arietta squeals, giving me a high five across the table. “I’m thirty-seven,” Canon offers. “Same as me.” Evan imitates Arietta’s squeal and goes for a high five, which Canon deflects with an eye roll.
“I wonder how long you’ll be able to keep that,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “That humility. Once everyone starts telling you how beautiful you are, how amazing you are, it’s hard to hold on to.” “Is it hard for you?” I ask softly. That could be taken in some really pervy ways,
“Well, this is good news,” I say, waving my phone at Takira. “Oh yeah?” The forced brightness of her tone does little to disguise the glumness.
“Seriously. I need you out there. For emotional support, of course, but also for this hair, which is on a sliding scale from 3B to 4A with a 4C patch in the back.”
I point a thumb to Graham, who, along with Evan, is seated behind me. “Our assistant will make sure we’re one big, happy family. She always plans socials and other stuff to bond the team.” “Hey, guys!” Graham says, and I can just imagine her waving and cheesing.
Monk waves and flashes around a smile that dies when it lands on Verity. She rolls her eyes and looks away. And so it begins…
Jill Brigston, seated beside me, bumps my shoulder. She’s the best cinematographer I’ve ever met and would have an Oscar by now if she was a man.
That startles a relieved sound from me that is half-laugh, half-sob.
I keep slamming the door on my feelings, but there is a persistent tap, tap, tap constantly tempting me to open it. Daring me to find out what’s on the other side.
“Oh, yeah.” He looks back to the spot where Verity stood a moment ago, but she’s not there anymore.
Cameo’s “Candy” booms from inside followed by a collective whoop from the crowd.
Wahoo!
“You like to dance?” she asks. “Did you need something?” I carve the words out of stone and show her my irritation with a scowl. Surprise and dismay mingle on her pretty face. “I-I was just trying to make conversation.” “Go try with someone else. I’m not in the mood for it.” “Wow.” Hurt fills her eyes and she presses her lips together, shaking her head. “Sorry I bothered you.”
SMH
I reach out, cuffing her wrist to stop her. She drags a glare from the loose clasp of my hand up to my face.
“I can’t do smoke,” she says, gesturing to the unlit cigar in my hand. “It aggravates my… I just can’t do smoke, and I want to let you enjoy your cigar, so I’ll go.” She tugs to free her wrist again, but I still don’t release her. Instead, I toss this cigar over the balcony like I did the last one.
Just put it away?
“Oh, this was my jam,” Neevah says, closing her eyes and lifting her face toward the sky. Moonlight caresses the high curves of her cheekbones, kisses the ripeness of her lips. Long lashes rest like feathers on her cheeks.
“My mom’s, too. My favorite Luther is ‘If This World Were Mine.’ Technically a duet, but…”
Sweat drizzles between my breasts, coats my neck and arms like dew.
“Now let’s look at your footwork. I want more Frankie Manning from you, less Megan Thee Stallion.”
HUH
She looks at me speculatively. “Tell you what. There’s a great little family restaurant in Topanga Canyon that does a crazy-good Thanksgiving dinner. Fantastic view. You’d love it.
OMG
Is this your first time?” I ask in the silence the hostess leaves behind. This is as awkward as a Real Housewives reunion special.
A small silence pools between us, rising like the water not far away until I think it’s over my head and I can’t breathe.
“Schitt’s Creek?” I ask, nodding to her shirt, hoping to distract myself from all the nasty shit running rampant through my thoughts about her legs wrapped around my waist or me licking the arch of her foot.
OMG
“Do you want to know?” She scoots an inch closer, her skirt rising higher and revealing the edge of her black panties. “If I would give you everything?”
The freed weight of her breasts spills against my chest, and I push my tongue deeper into her mouth, so deep her breath catches like it might be too much. Like I might be too much, and I want that because she is too much for me to take in all at once.
“Did you really need help for this next scene?” he whispers in my ear, his wide palm running down my back and resting just above the curve of my ass. “Yes. In this next scene, can you tell me…” I glance up mock-seriously through my lashes. “What’s my motivation?”
“Does everyone know?” I ask, my voice subdued, eyes fixed on my Air Force Ones.
I sprawl on her bed, wallowing in the stillness I’ve had so seldom the last few months.
For a few seconds we simply stare at each other in the privacy of the foyer, but it doesn’t feel awkward. It’s a thirsty silence.
