Behind the Scenes

by Christina C. Jones

“But… if you’re telling me you’re good… okay. I believe you.” “I didn’t say all that, but the accident wasn’t on me.”

I had a hellish, circular problem of migraines making it hard to sleep, but lack of sleep only worsened the migraine.

Pretty pecan skin, full lips coated in a subtle gloss, cute little rounded tip on her nose. Thick lashes made her eyes pop – the only hint of “glam” on her otherwise lowkey makeup.

Desiree Byers.

She was a Byers – of the you don’t want to see their law firm on the letterhead unless you hired them Byerses.

She stared at me for what felt like a long time, then finally offered a nod of acknowledgement. “Apology accepted. And now that that’s over… you can finish talking to me about your vision.”

He owned up to his shit

“Nobody wants to see that. They don’t want hope, or to see what could be. They want what they can relate to – which is misery. That’s the only thing people think is realistic these days.”

“Expectations. Resignation. Family honor.” Pierre let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head as he pulled out his keys, using the fob to unlock his own vehicle. “On that note, I think I should head out.”

And then, as he grew even harder, went to work stripping the robe and nightgown off me, leaving me completely exposed in front of him, tummy and love handles and all. Not that he gave a shit.

Instead, I’d only been underneath the hot spray for a few moments before I felt the shift in energy that told me he’d come into the bathroom. I went still, listening to him pee, flush the toilet, wash his hands… and then he stepped into the shower with me.

This character just had sex in her bonnet and im through. Love it!

I’m about to end up with a whole new addiction. That was the thought that forced me to pull back from her… eventually.

I wasn’t – usually – the kind of girl who operated too largely on my “feelings”. I liked logic, and concrete things I could reach out and touch, and… neat boxes.

“Oh, you have an assistant? Cute,” Sienna giggled, somehow getting even closer. “I should’ve known. She’s sexy. If you’re into that body type.”

Oh no she didn’t!

“Wow,” she laughed, holding up her hands. “Fine. You know I didn’t mean any harm, right?” I nodded, letting the issue die for now, but… that was exactly the problem. She never meant any harm. But the harm was there, whether or not it was meant.

I kept imagining myself kicking Sienna’s ass.

Lolz

Sienna Sparks, a loud-mouthed party girl who was always in some kinda friction with someone via social media. She was a writer and producer, among some other titles she’d given herself. Her work was the kind of vapid, emotionally manipulative, reductive conversation starting, derivative bullshit ass shows that got attention in the echo chambers of social media, making them “hits” on the compelling strength of FOMO.

Mediocre white folks got rewarded for wack shit all the time, why shouldn’t she?

In my not-so-logical mind though… I kept glancing at my phone, waiting for Pierre’s name to pop up with… What, Logan? An assurance that it wasn’t what it looked like? A declaration that he only has eyes for you? What? Shit.

all the stuff that makes it not even matter if the other boxes get checked.

“That’s not even what I’m on,” I said shaking my head. “I don’t mean any offense, seriously. But I can’t fall back into the same stuff that had me out here bad just because you want to recapture old times.

Lo was worried abiut mentioning wine to him…

The answers I needed weren’t located in the depths of Sienna’s pussy though. And even if they were, that was just one Pandora’s box I refused to open because of what might come with it.

Hes so mature

Anthony, on the other hand, was not getting the benefit of such a clean mental slate from me. He did fine though. His lips held the perfect level of moisture and they were soft. He didn’t try to do anything weird with his teeth, didn’t try to force his tongue into my mouth, no craziness. Just… a nice kiss. Just nice. How… disappointing.

I was self-aware enough to know that part of my concern about Sienna’s presence and what it meant for the show was rooted in my desire to be a part of the ODS success. Not to have my name on it, or anything like that, because that wasn’t the norm for me anyway, and wasn’t a thing that mattered.

She's literally producing the show

“I’m just saying that, when this thing with me and her goes somewhere, I want to make sure I’m in a position to really enjoy every available perk.”

What a dick?

“My bad. The sight of your face just got a nigga a lil hype, that’s all.”

Even when he and I had been on the best of terms, I’d despised this lady and her crooked, faux jheri curl wig.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on between you and Gina? Y’all didn’t even acknowledge each other.” She huffed, turning back to her magazine. “There is not a damn thing going on between me and that woman or her sister, or that curly possum on her head.”

“Ay, you’re not calling your ass finished without toning and moisturizing, are you?” She poked her head back in the bathroom door. “What?” “Last time you stayed over with me, you made a whole big ass deal about your morning skincare, upset that you forgot to grab your toner and your moisturizer. You walked out of here without doing it just now.” She stared at me for a long moment and then she did step back into the bathroom to finish her routine out. In silence.

Omg!

It was actually something I’d had to talk through extensively in rehab—feeling what you were feeling instead of rushing to try to fix it or not feel it anymore. That shit wasn’t healthy and was often the catalyst for a disastrous relationship with self-medicating, which I knew a little too much about. Sometimes… you just needed to sit with shit and let it pass when it passed.

Misogyny or whatever the fuck that other dude’s name was.

This book is funny

I understood the appeal, and had even been guilty of doing it myself, but really felt like “binge culture” did a lot of shows – and art in general – a huge disservice. Good shit needed time to breathe, time to sit with it and really process it, to consider not just the messages, but the art itself. The brain needed breaks from stimulation to appreciate what it had consumed.

I couldn’t save him. And that’s not my place.

Their desires for my career weren’t the only things my parents had instilled in me. More specifically, my mother had drilled into me that it was never, ever, my job to restore or renovate a man. She insisted that I deserved someone already whole, someone who knew enough to not go out in the water without a life jacket.

“You know the rules,” he muttered against my ear, and exactly as prompted, I fought the urge to close my eyes. So I could see everything.

Thats hot

“A very wise man, and incredible filmmaker – my father – once told me that it took a massive amount of arrogance to ever think you were telling a character’s complete story. If you’ve done your job right, that character’s story is this enduring thing, that carries on forever. Graduating college isn’t the end, getting married isn’t the end, even death isn’t the end. All those things are just the beginnings of new stories, maybe happening outside my creative lens. It’s not up to us to tell a complete story – that’s not possible. Our job is to tell the story we see. Anything else has to be left to the imagination.”