by Kyle Rutkin
She laughed, looking at me intently. “Do you want me?” she asked.
“HE’S COMING FOR ME.”
“Yes,” I admitted. “But you already know that. And I’m not big on these games.”
Suddenly, she was on the bed next to me. Her tiny waist peeked through her white top. It was perfect and flat, soft and tight.
“Games?”
“We live different lives.”
“How so?”
“I don’t have teenagers snorting and screaming all over my house.”
She snickered.
“And don’t forget the part where you take me up to your room and ask me if I want you,” I added. “You think this is normal?”
She walked over to a small bar area built into an alcove in the tower room.
“How do you normally conduct business?” she teased.
“Not like this.”
She pulled out a bottle of vodka.
“How about this?”
“HE’S COMING FOR ME.”
I stared at the bottle. What about all your hard work? What about Sara?
Are you kidding? Sara doesn’t want you anymore. You think showing up at her house is going to keep you sober? That’s not a damn purpose. That’s desperation. She doesn’t want you. This is where you belong.
What about the people you love? Your brother?
Please. He’s dead. It was your fault. Just ask your father.
What about your sponsor? What about Nathan?
I don’t see him. He can’t help you now.
What if I give in? Will you leave Sara alone?
I will. Bob entered the room.
I took a swig and passed the bottle back to Kelly. The warmth from the alcohol slowed my heart rate, calmed my breathing. It wasn’t my favorite, but I missed it. The voices dulled. She took a swig. Fell back onto the bed. We made small talk between swigs. She kept pushing loose strands of blonde hair behind her ear. Another description from my book.
She asked me if I still partied. I used to. I told her about my past. The arrests. Rock bottom. Leaving my family. I told her that cocaine and pills were my favorite. She asked if Alice was still in my life, and I shook my head. I felt vulnerable. Not starstruck, but intimidated. It was hard to tell. I wanted to please her. I wish she had been immature and selfish, pertinacious, and snobby. I wish she had asked me to write some shitty, juvenile screenplay. Then I could say no because it was an absurd idea and I wouldn’t compromise. That wasn’t Kelly.
She touched my arm, running her nails down to my hands. Our fingers interlaced. She stared up at me with doe-like eyes. Her nails moved back up my arms. Chills trailed. She got up from the bed and walked over to the dresser. Her pajamas dropped, revealing a pink thong and a perfect ass. My heart raced past the numbing alcohol.
“HE’S COMING FOR ME.”
The elastic bands of her thong were high on her hips; my eyes stuck on her soft cheeks. Why was I really here? I was so far out of place, and seven swigs deep in vodka. She hoisted herself onto her dresser and opened her legs as I walked toward her. She reached for me. The height of the furniture was perfect. Our bodies aligned with ease. She had either done her homework or done this before. I assumed the latter.
I put my index finger on top of her pink cotton panties. Slid my fingers under and touched the soft skin beneath, moving up and down, my breath hovering on her neck. She moaned. I pulled her panties to the side. Smooth skin. Wet lips. No hair.
“HE’S COMING FOR ME.”
I pulsed and surged onward. I stripped her thong down, staring at her hairless crotch. What about Sara? What about Nathan? They pulled me out of this mess, once. They wouldn’t be there again.
Fuck them.
They left you.
I placed my hands on Kelly’s knees. I half expected her to shove me off, but she didn’t. The innocence was gone. Her gaze was direct, provocative, leading. She knew what she wanted. I let her reach for my waist. Our lips touched. We kissed. My thumbs slid down her delicate jaw. I wanted every part of her. She tugged at my belt and pants until my erection was out in the open. I took my shirt off. Hers followed.
Her hips moved closer to the tip of my cock resting against her vagina. I buried my forehead in the crook of her neck, feeling the warmth of her body. She was already so wet. I shouldn’t be doing this. Keep going. I knew this ending. You have no idea. She took one more slide forward. My penis slipped inside of her.
The warmth devoured me. Completely. No more resistance. Down the rabbit hole. Into the fantasy. I begged for more. I pushed. Again and again, I pushed as deep as I could. Jaw locked. Teeth grinding. Thrusting madly. Into the darkness. My hands lowered to her ass, pulling, squeezing, pushing until I couldn’t possibly go any farther. Until I took in every part of that warmth.
She moaned with every thrust. My hands went back to her neck. I tried to pull her head into my chest, but she pushed away. She wanted my gaze. Her wide blue eyes consumed me, scared me. I averted mine…too much. She grabbed my neck tightly, challenged me to stare back. She was in control. She bit her lip, looked down. Then back up to my eyes.
She was posing. Her hips gyrated perfectly with my thrusts, and I reached down and grabbed her ass. She moved in closer. I pushed deeper and deeper. I kissed her again. I couldn’t resist.
My penis thickened as I got ready to come. I didn’t want to go so fast, but I couldn’t stop. I tried to pull out, but she dug her nails into my back and didn’t let me move. I didn’t fight it, pumping one last thrust into her small frame and letting it go. My heartbeat slowed. My body relaxed. Still inside of her. She rubbed her nails through my hair and then put my head on her shoulder.
Bob chuckled from across the room as he got up to leave. He smiled, tipped his hat, and slid the crossword under his arm. Welcome back.
Lizzy: I never trusted his eyes. They were just…filled with darkness. Like his soul was at a crossroads. I saw him that night at the book party, before I left. Did he tell you that? I don’t think he recognized me. He was pale, grossly sweaty. He was okay-looking when he wasn’t strung out, not my type, definitely not good enough for Kelly. I warned her not to be alone with him. I should have known better…you couldn’t tell Kelly what to do.
Jez: That was such an amazing night! I knew they were going to hook up. How could they not? Kaleb was hot. We spent two days shopping for outfits. A whole day just on bathing suits. I thought she was going to go for something slutty, like a scrunched bottom or a skimpy thong. Kelly’s ass was seriously the best. But instead, she chose a conservative two-piece and a few Alice-inspired outfits for later. She looked so gorgeous dressed up as Alice. Look at me, I’m crying just thinking about it.
Lizzy: I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of Kelly…it’s not like she was a slut. Contrary to the gossip, she didn’t have a ton of one-night stands. All that stuff onstage is a complete act. Kelly had a heart of gold. But dressing up as Alice from his book? That was a horrible decision. No matter how tough that girl was, she could be naive. It was just another acting role for Kelly. A night of dress-up and hanging out with the guy she likes. How could she know what he was capable of?
Jez: Oh please. It was a Pay Me, Alice-themed party, for heaven’s sake! Of course she was going to dress up like Alice! I knew Lizzy wouldn’t approve. It was awkward when she came. Kelly tried to be nice to her, but Lizzy had a giant stick up her butt. She was jealous. Just so you know, she and Kelly were not that close this past year. I’m not going to gossip, Kelly wouldn’t want that. So that’s all I’ll say.
Lizzy: She said he was pretty pushy. Forceful? I wouldn’t say that. Not sure she would have admitted that. But when I pressed for more details, she gave a long pause. She said she liked it. And that didn’t shock me. Typical of someone who craves abuse. I asked her what her next move was, and she said that Kaleb wanted to write her story…
Jez: Not a story, detective. Stories come and go. But legends…those last forever.
The Real Kelly T
rozzo
TheInsideJuice.com Interview 2019
INSIDEJUICE: Let’s switch gears for a minute. I look around at the statues in the driveway, the paintings on the wall. You’re obsessed with Greek mythology. Why?
TROZZO: It started when I was a child. I would beg my mother to read me the tale of Andromeda, even though I’d heard it a million times. I liked how she told it, how the universe could sometimes seem unfair and cold, but everything happens in accordance to this higher plan, something bigger than us.
The story is very similar to the plot of my movie, but I’ll recap. Andromeda is the gorgeous daughter of cruel Cepheus, king of Aethiopia, and Queen Cassiopeia. When the queen opens her fat mouth and brags that their daughter is prettier than the nymph daughters of the sea, the great Poseidon sends a sea monster to destroy the city. In response, King Cepheus goes to the Oracle of Apollo, and decides to appease Poseidon by sacrificing his only daughter.
So, there’s Andromeda, chained to a rock, betrayed by her father and mother, at the mercy of this human-eating monster. What on earth will she do? Then the dashing Perseus comes strolling in from his escapades with Medusa, and lo and behold, he sees Andromeda chained to the rock. Our hero can’t have that. With a swift swing of his sword, Perseus kills the monster, frees Andromeda, and then—because what else happens after you save a damsel in distress?—he marries her.
My mother used to say that some terrible things are supposed to happen in our lives. It is the universe’s way of correcting itself, and that everything will unfold the way it needs to. It just makes sense to me. Only when we are chained can we discover our true strength, our destiny in this world.
The Blog of Kaleb Reed
(Continued)
It was 4:00 a.m., and I was still at Kelly’s house, polishing off the bottle of vodka. Our bodies propped against the headboard. The party was over, and the house was still. The window was open. A gentle breeze rolled over the bed. My book was sitting on her nightstand. I liked that. I took a swig, my eyelids closing. I was tired and numb, but alert enough when she spoke.
“I told you I wanted you to write something.” She curled her silver sparrow necklace around her fingers, her naked body twisted toward me. “I loved that your book was the love story of someone you would never end up with.”
It jolted me awake.
“The hopelessness of it all. You loved her more than she loved you,” Kelly said, gazing into the darkness. “It was so real. You knew everything about that girl. I knew her better than the narrator.”
She grabbed the bottle from me with a mischievous grin. “I want our book to be a love story, not a memoir. I want you to fall in love with me, Kaleb. I want you to know everything. The good, the bad, the secrets that I’ve hidden from the world. And in the end, I’m going to break your fucking heart.”
And then she kissed me softly on the lips.
Lizzy: She called me in the morning on her way to the airport. She was weary, but also strangely enthralled. A recovering druggie with a rap sheet? I mean, c’mon, how could she resist? And not just any rap sheet. When I read about what he did to that poor tattoo artist in Massachusetts…It was beyond gruesome. He beat that guy to a bloody pulp. Did you see that man’s face? Google it. Who wouldn’t be scared? There was something horrible inside him.
Jez: As usual, I found her deep in meditation the next morning. I was freaking out. Tell me what happened? Did you guys hook up? Spill it! That’s when she opened her eyes and grabbed my hand. It was so intense. I was thinking, oh my gosh, something bad happened. She can’t even get the words out. Then a huge smile broke out on her face. She screamed, “He wants to write our book!” Oh my gosh. I’ve never seen her so excited! Her favorite author was promising to capture her in a way that no one else could!
Lizzy: Kelly believed in all that universe crap. She was always looking for signs of a bigger purpose. The author knew that. I wasn’t a fan of his book, but the guy was a good storyteller. You should have heard some of the garbage he fed her. Stars aligning, sharing missions, all sorts of New Age mumbo jumbo. Absolute bullshit if you ask me.
Jez: Kelly was adamant that the universe had grand plans for her and Kaleb. She found his book for a reason. Just like I served that drink to her for a reason. She believed we were all meant for something bigger. But she also taught me something else—it only takes one bad seed to poison the entire apple.
The Real Kelly Trozzo
TheInsideJuice.com Interview 2019
INSIDEJUICE: What is your relationship with your mother?
TROZZO: I don’t have one.
INSIDEJUICE: Why is that?
TROZZO: My mother was a sick woman. I’m not sure what it was, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia. All I remember is the hysterics. When I was a kid, she would have these episodes, and her face would be as red as a cherry tomato. I would ask if she was okay, but she couldn’t answer me because she was another person—even her eyes looked different, just dark and scary. She’d lock herself in her room for a week straight, and I would hear picture frames and other stuff crash against the wall. I had no idea what was going on. But there was something wrong with her. The drugs helped ease her suffering.
INSIDEJUICE: What kind of effect did that have on you?
TROZZO: Believe it or not, I owe my success to my mother. Most nights, after she got high, she would stroke my hair and stare at me in the mirror. She would tell me that I was a beacon of light, a burning star that would never die out. My mother took me to my first audition. She found this red velvet dress at a Salvation Army, holes in the skirt, and she twirled it around like it was designed by Coco Chanel herself. I held her hand as we walked into the casting room to find twenty blonde dolls dressed to perfection, next to their chic parents. And there I was, in some dirty hand-me-down, next to my strung-out mom.
In a moment of weakness, I told her that I wanted to leave, and I’ll never forget what she did. She squeezed my hand with real strength. Suddenly, her eyes became clear and lucid. Then she said the words that came to define me: You’re going to be better than me, darling. You’re going to shine brighter than all of them. Because you have something they don’t—pure light. Now step forward, my beautiful daughter, my beautiful star.
Then they called my name to audition, and she pushed me forward. Permitting me to shine.
The Blog of Kaleb Reed
(Continued)
I opened my eyes, the sun blanketing my face. I was naked. Kelly was gone. The sheets were too crisp, the comforter too large and expensive. Her bed felt good. I hadn’t slept on good, clean sheets in a long time. A copy of Pay Me, Alice was on the nightstand. I grabbed the book, browsed the pages for any clue to its origin—an advanced copy stamp, a name, anything. There were no notes. No dog-eared pages. No signs of wear. The pages were crisp, the matte black cover unscathed. Placed for decoration. Just like everything else.
Kelly’s house was always still and silent in the light of day. The sins of the night washed clean. I walked out to the staircase overlooking the foyer, expecting to find passed-out teenagers lying on the marble, amid whippets and empty Solo cups. Instead it was spotless. The cleanliness was almost eerie. My bare feet slipped across the polished tiles.
There was something familiar about Kelly’s house. It reminded me of my childhood home. That same sorrow. Coldness. A shiny political family with a hollow center. My father’s scandal punctured the surface. My brother’s death imploded us. My mom locked herself in her room. My dad abandoned her. She was safer that way. He couldn’t hurt her anymore. I haven’t been back in over a decade. I never forgave my dad for being a coward. For his rage. For leaving. But in all fairness, that was what I did, too.
What I’ve always done.
I’m just like him.
I found Kelly in her study. Books were stacked along the walls alongside medieval suits of armor and oil paintings of Greek Gods. My eyes fell upon the largest one, stretching across the entire wall. A monster rose out of the sea, its fangs primed
to devour a pale woman chained to a rock. Andromeda. A strapping Greek hero was on the horizon. Perseus. He was riding on a Pegasus, his sword held triumphantly in the air. The scene was painted in a classical style, but bright colors were smeared wildly around the canvas, with the words: Love, pain, sacrifice, grace, mercy.
“Kaleb.”
Kelly was sitting on the floor surrounded by fan mail and letters. She had her headphones on, sporadically scribbling in a notepad as she swayed to the beat.
“Good morning,” she said over the music in her ears. “You sleep well?”
“What’s all this?” I asked, looking at the scribbled-upon pages.
“My routine.”
“Routine?”
She was fully dressed in a long, black cotton skirt and a white tube top, no makeup. Her hair was wet, tied into a bun. She took off her headphones and looked up at me.
“You don’t have a creative routine?”
“Not really,” I said.
“One book at the age of thirty-three. Why am I not surprised?” She pointed over to the desk. “There’s your offer.”
I grabbed the thick stack of papers. An official book contract. Fully thought out and detailed. A minimum of twelve months. Page one: “Rules and Regulations.” I flipped through, skimming over the details. I couldn’t make our relationship public…I couldn’t do this…I couldn’t do that…Page after page of clauses. My eyes went to the bolded dollar amount. She would give me a $200,000 advance to complete a manuscript within a year of the date of signature. Six months of research, six months of writing.
