by Virna DePaul
He doesn’t smile or laugh, but he does reach out and caress my cheek, making me tremble.
“What happened, Marissa?” he asks.
I look down, and trail my finger over the pattern in the sheet. “I was with this boy—Brian Hall—and he was a typical bad boy. Wore a leather jacket and smoked cigarettes even. But the thing was, I thought he loved me. One night, we left a party and we’d been drinking, and I asked him not to drive. I asked him to call a taxi, but what kind of bad boy would he have been if he’d done that?” I smile sadly.
“Marissa,” he whispers.
I shake my head. “We got into a car accident. I was hurt, but not bad. I don’t even have any scars.”
“And Brian?”
“He ran off. Left me there. Because he didn’t want to be found by the police. Of course they found him anyway but—”
“The bastard left you there? Hurt?” Simon snaps, disbelief and rage written all over his expression.
“He did. And of course I was left to face my family alone. My mom and dad were horrified. They were already on the brink of divorce, but after what I did…”
“They divorced?”
“Yes. Got back together. Divorced again. And are now back together. Obviously.”
“The divorce wasn’t your fault, Marissa. And what you did—getting into a car with someone who had been drinking—was a mistake, but it’s not something you should pay for for the rest of your life. It’s not right for your mum to keep bringing it up. It’s not right for her to use guilt to keep you in line.”
“She just wants what’s best for me. And it’s better that I learned my lesson before something even more terrible happened. I was out of control. I’m not meant to be wild and reckless and passionate, Simon. I like being a good girl, for the most part. Hell, pretending to be your girlfriend is the most reckless thing I’ve done in ages.”
He’s quiet for several moments before he says, “Do you regret it? Especially after what happened tonight?”
“Not at all,” I say, meaning every word. “I will never regret the time I’ve spent with you, Simon.”
He blinks. Tenderness and desire flare in his eyes, and hope swells inside me.
Will he reciprocate what I’d just said? Will he tell me he wants more time with me? That he doesn’t want thing to end. Will he—
He leans forward, kisses me on the temple, then says, “Are you hungry?”
Now it’s me who blinks.
Am I hungry?
Right.
He doesn’t want to go there. He doesn’t want intimacy and feelings and sharing with me. He doesn’t want a real relationship.
Now that the ball is over, we’re supposed to go our separate ways.
I swallow hard and force myself to smile. “Are you cooking?”
“You don’t want to eat my cooking, darling.”
“Then you know what we should do?”
He raises an expectant eyebrow.
“Order delivery like civilized people.”
He snorts. “What restaurant would deliver to this neighborhood?”
I force a smile. “I know a guy who knows a guy…”
When the food arrives, it’s heavenly. Eggs, bacon, fluffy pancakes, muffins, flaky croissants, even fresh jam and whipped butter are spread out on his bed, like we’re on a breakfast picnic. He was also smart enough to order coffee enough for an elephant, and we almost drink all of it.
I must admit, normally I’m rather shy to eat around men. Charles was always making some snide comment about my weight. It got to the point that I tried not to eat around him at all. It was easier to poke at a salad when we went to dinner and then make something for myself when I got home.
With Simon, I only take some eggs and a muffin, which barely takes up one side of a plate. I take tiny bites, trying to restrain myself from inhaling the food, I’m so hungry.
He seems to sense I need encouragement, because he places multiple slices of bacon on my plate and then slathers my muffin in butter. “Eat up. You’ll need your strength,” he says by way of explanation. “As much as I love you wearing my T-shirt, I can’t wait to get you out of it.”
I’m a little surprised by his words. Since the ball is over, and after what happened earlier, I’d assumed we’d be saying our goodbyes after we ate. As pathetic as it makes me, I’m happy to know Simon won’t be kicking me out of his life quite so abruptly.
I start eating like a normal person, even licking my fingers by the end. Simon is looking at me like he’d like to eat me now.
A little embarrassed by how much I ate, I clean up our breakfast without saying a word to him. I’m putting dishes in the dishwasher when I feel arms around my waist. Turning in his arms, I smile.
“I know exactly what I’d like to do this morning.” He growls wolfishly, kissing my neck and making me squirm. “But what would you like to do?”
It suddenly dawns on me—I wasn’t supposed to be taking today off. I groan. “I have a project for work I need to get done.”
He stares at me. “On a Sunday? Bloody hell. Why do you even work that job, love? You obviously hate it.”
“I do. I think about quitting every day. But I didn’t have much of a choice in what I did with my life. My mother—”
“Your mother is the same person who thinks you belong with Charles. She isn’t the best person to dictate your life, I’d wager,” he says.
He’s right, of course. The idea was to work and quit when I married Charles. Sometimes I’d fantasized about continuing to work even after I was married—maybe as a freelancer, as my own boss, as much as that decision would probably give my mother a heart attack. Even to me the idea of just quitting my job, of letting go of the familiar, feels terrifying.
“You know,” he says, “I was thinking that I don’t want to let you go. I’d like to keep seeing you. How do you feel about that?”
My brain stops. He doesn’t want to let me go. My heart starts to flutter in my chest again. So I’d been wrong in assuming he didn’t want to continue seeing me? Oh God, I’d been wrong!
“I’d like that very much,” I manage to say.
He steps away, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Good, because it’s obvious from The Prat’s appearance last night that he hasn’t quite left the picture. And I’m thinking we’ll need to show Spires and Noble that we’re legit at least one more time, if not twice more, until the press conference. Since Janelle showed up at the ball last night, I have a feeling they’re on the fence still. I tried smoothing things over, but you know them.”
That fluttery heart feeling? It’s replaced with a clenching heart feeling. Again.
He only wants to continue this for the act.
Did you really think he was going to tell you he loved you? my mind screams at me.
God, I feel stupid. Here I am, expecting him to proclaim that he wants to make this real, when in reality, he’s just using it to his advantage like he told me he would from the beginning.
At my silence, he says, “Marissa? Are you okay with keeping this going?”
I want to burst into tears. I bite my cheek so hard I taste blood to keep those tears from showing.
“Sure, yes. We might as well give it our best shot, right?”
He smiles. “Splendid. I knew you would be a good sport about this.” His phone rings and he gives me a quick kiss before going into the other room to answer. I sit there for a while longer, staring off into the distance. Finally, I get up and wander into the living room. Simon smiles at me from his small balcony and I take in his meager belongings. His apartment seems more like a hotel room, keenly impersonal, as opposed to a home he put together himself. Maybe he doesn’t know how to get personal.
But I shake off those thoughts, because it’s none of my business. He isn’t my boyfriend. He never will be, and I need to get that through my thick skull. I return to the kitchen and find detergent under the sink. I start a load and lean against the counter since Simon is still on the phone.<
br />
Then I wait, wondering what the hell I’m going to do now.
16
Simon
I’m in my trailer on Monday afternoon after the final day of shooting Season Four of Alien Love, having just finished up another phone call with the producers of Perfect Union. Those men aren’t going to give me the part without having me jump through all the hoops, which I understand, but switching back and forth between my role as Borg and Simon-the-Reformed is rather exhausting. I wish they’d just put me out of my misery already.
Leaning back in my chair, I rub my temples. I wonder if there’s a fresh pot of coffee somewhere, because I’m about to nod off right here.
My phone rings, and I groan. Picking up, I say, “Simon here.”
“Simon, Declan. Noble and Spires just called me to set up a meeting for tomorrow. I have a good feeling about it.”
Seconds later, I’m disconnecting the call, my stomach clenching with nerves. The first person I want to call is Marissa, so I begin dialing her number, only to stop when someone knocks on my door and one of the interns sticks her head into the trailer.
“Mr. Dale, I have a visitor here for you. She doesn’t have an appointment, but she’s insistent on seeing you.”
Is it Marissa? It has to be Marissa. She’s never visited me on the set before, but I’m excited by the prospect. My heart pounding, I reply, “Send her back.”
I’d been readying to step into the shower and wash off this green paint. I’m pulling on my robe when the door to my trailer opens. I’m about to say Marissa’s name when I realize the woman standing in my office isn’t Marissa at all. She’s also the last person I ever thought I’d see here.
It’s Marissa’s mum, June Woodcrest.
She’s wearing an expensive, cream-colored suit, her shoes and purse a deep, blood red. Even her lipstick matches her purse. She’s staring at me like I’m some bug she never wanted to see again. I must admit, I’m so stunned by her appearance that I don’t say anything for a few moments.
“May I sit down?” she asks, eyeing me in all my green glory.
I move to the couch and clear some magazines off of it. “Yes, please.” She sits down in it, her back ramrod straight.
I go back around and sit down. When I turn back to her, she’s now looking at me like I’m a bug infested with disease. That simpering, gushy smile she had for me at the country club is long gone. My heart starts pounding all over again and I can feel a cold sweat break out on my forehead.
“What can I do for you, Mrs. Woodcrest?” I try to sound cool, collected.
She looks around my trailer and I can tell she’s judging me, in my makeup and silk robe, most of all. I shift uncomfortably in my seat. She wipes a spot from the arm of the chair she’s sitting in, sniffing a bit.
“Mr. Dale,” she finally says, “you can’t be under any misapprehension as to why I’m here.”
I blink. “I think I understand. I am sorry I lied to you about my profession. But I assure you, it’s not what you think.”
She makes a face. “It’s exactly what I think. My daughter has been acting like a different person, and I know now it’s because of your horrible influence. Before she met you, she was a sweet, dutiful girl. Now she’s been lying, defying us. She’s making a fool of herself for someone who doesn’t deserve her once again.” June takes out a handkerchief from her purse, dabbing at her eyes. I have a hard time imagining her actually crying. “What a disaster this is!”
I grit my teeth. I’m not usually easily riled, but June’s tone sets me on edge. Then again, I’ve never been much for snotty bluebloods telling me what to do.
“So you came here for…” I raise an eyebrow.
June gives me a look. “Let me say this as plainly as possible: we know of your family’s history. We know you have a mother who disappeared and a father who’s a drunkard. We know you’re nothing but a low-life from London’s East End. Because of your circumstances, we ask that you leave our daughter alone.”
A buzzing starts in my ears. Gazing at this woman, her expression one of judgment and disdain, I can barely keep myself from telling her to go to hell.
”Who told you?”
“I’m rich, Mr. Dale. I have people who can find these things out, if given the time. And after you conveniently waltzed yourself into my daughter’s life, I had you followed and investigated.”
“You had me followed? Investigated?” I repeat. Even the damn paparazzi hasn’t been able to find out the truth of how I grew up.
She nods. “My daughter has always been drawn to men that aren’t good for her, and she’s suffered as a result of that. I don’t want her to be hurt again. She is obviously star struck by you and your considerable good looks, but she can’t make her own decisions to save her life. So I am making this one for her, and I think it will save her a lot of heartache. Leave her alone.”
She’s comparing me to him. To Brian Hall, the man who drove drunk and left Marissa after he’d wrecked his car. The man who’d left her hurt and ran to cover his own ass. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I grit out, though my resolve is cracking. A small voice in my head keeps repeating that she knows exactly what she’s talking about, and it’s growing louder each time.
“Oh, I do. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. You are a lowly virus, and you must be extinguished and not permitted to infiltrate my family. Do you understand?”
I’m clenching my fists so hard that my nails are digging into my palms. “What are you going to do?”
She smiles again, a cat that’s caught its canary. “Nothing. If you leave her alone, I won’t do a thing. But if you even send her a text, I’ll find out. And then I’ll make sure your career is finished. My husband knows Noble and Spires. In fact, Raul and Mr. Noble attended the same school. I understand they’re considering you for the lead in an upcoming movie. But if you contact my daughter, I’ll pull strings. You’ll never get that role and you’ll never work in Hollywood again. Do you understand?”
I stare at her, my blood boiling in my veins. Janelle had said it would come to this, and I hate to think she was right. I want to scream at this woman. I can’t just not see Marissa, I realize, and it’s not because of the part. Fuck the part. It’s because Marissa is part of my life. She and I…we belong together.
Or do we?
She looked like a diamond in my apartment, and if I don’t end up getting the part I’m so desperately seeking, who knows what my next role will be after Alien Love has run its course? Plus, if June Woodcrest makes good on her threats, I won’t be able to find any roles—and I’ll be dead broke. I wouldn’t be able to provide for her. I’d be a loser, the way I was as a young punk. Marissa belongs in the country club, not with some faker who grew up in London’s East End and then used her to further his fucking career. A B-Actor who might not ever get a chance to be anything more—and certainly could end up being everything less.
It all comes down to this: I don’t deserve Marissa any more than Brian Hall did.
So I swallow back all the bile in my throat and mutter, “I understand.”
She smiles, satisfied. “Good.” When she gets up, I get up as well. But she doesn’t make a move to leave. She simply places her handkerchief back into her purse, snapping it closed with a quick movement.
“I know I must be coming off awful, Mr. Dale. But put yourself in my shoes. Marissa is my little lost lamb of a child. She simply can’t be trusted to make a good decision, and that includes what kind of man she should commit herself to.”
I stare her down, trying to calm my breathing. This fucking woman. She may be right about me, but if there’s one thing she’s so wrong about, it’s her daughter. Marissa is too dutiful and good to say it to her parents, but at that moment, I realize I can.
“Listen,” I say pointedly. “I need you to know this. Marissa is capable of making good decisions, including the good sense not to get romantically involved with a person like me. We never had anything, Mrs. W
oodcrest. This relationship? It was a sham.”
She tilts her head to look at me, and sits back, almost dazed, so I continue.
“I noticed your daughter was in a rough spot at the country club, and I needed someone to play my girlfriend so that I could be in consideration for that role in Noble and Spires’ movie. Pretending to be in a relationship together was all my idea. Your daughter never would’ve been seen with me if I hadn’t pushed her to help me.”
Her eyes narrow.
“So you see, there’s nothing for you to worry about. She’s quite more level-headed than you think. She has the good sense to keep away from me in any real capacity, I assure you.”
At least, if Marissa knew who I really was, what my background is, she would. And I’m not going to give her the opportunity to know the real me. I’m going to end this, now. I need to, for Marissa’s sake. I tighten the sash on my robe. “Marissa told me about Brian Hall. Please don’t make her continue paying for a mistake she made as a teenager. Please don’t force her into anything with that prat Charles. For god’s sake, he’s a bloody awful excuse for a man, and she deserves worlds better. Her father seemed to sense it, and as her mother, you should know it, as well.”
She blinks, obviously taken aback. I know, where does a self-absorbed asshole who used a woman to further his career get off making such demands? Obviously he doesn’t care about said woman’s happiness or he wouldn’t have used her to begin with.
But from the way June Woodcrest nods, I almost believe that she might actually get off Marissa’s back a bit.
That’s the least I can do for Marissa, after everything.
But why doesn’t it feel like enough? Why does it feel like nothing I can ever do would ever be enough for Marissa?
June Woodcrest says nothing as she leaves. I don’t escort her to the front. Instead, I close and lock my door before swearing underneath my breath, pacing the length of my trailer over and over again. All I can see is Mrs. Woodcrest’s face, like she’d finally caught me at my game and knew she had me by the balls.
