by Avery Aster
“Jesus. Lucky indeed.”
“I know, right? I am blessed. Lima is the one who encouraged me to attend JDA meetings. She’s supportive of my efforts to get sober.” As he puts down the weight, he turns to me and asks, “What about you?”
“Married to Neve Adele.”
“Wow!” His jaw hangs open as he sits down on the bench and proceeds to tie his sneaker.
“She has no idea that I’m in recovery.”
Sarcastically, he closes his jaw with his hand. “No shit?”
“She can’t find out. Her mom is a drunk. She’ll flip if she finds out she’s married to one.” Unsure of where to start my workout routine, I gaze out at the gym. My mind isn’t into exercise right now.
“Dude, that’s gonna come out this week or next. There’s no way you can hide from these therapists.” He stands and goes back to the free weights.
“Therapists? What are you talking about?” I step forward, glaring at the bulging veins in his neck as he returns to pumping his biceps.
“Uhhh, we’re in marriage counseling, all day every day, discussing our feelings.”
“Fuck no.”
“What’s funny is the TV producers know I have a drinking problem. And here we are at Long Meadow Creek Cellars.”
“Good thing I don’t like the taste of wine.”
“What’s your poison?” He puts the weights back. Lifting his arms over his head, he stretches his torso.
“Mostly beer. Sometimes whiskey.”
He laughs. “Didn’t you see? They brew beer across the street!”
Concern washes over me as if someone just set me on fire. “We didn’t get a chance to finish our tour.” I play it off like it’s no big deal and start stretching with him.
In silence we work out for about an hour, cardio, dead lifts, etc.
Right before we leave, I turn to Cash and say, “Let’s keep this between us.”
“Yeah. Sure.” He brushes the topic off lightly. Almost too lightly, in my opinion.
Taking a deep breath, I puff out my chest to assert myself. “No, you don’t understand. Neve can never know. I will not be talking about my drinking while we’re here. Get it?”
“No, I don’t get it. You know as well as I do that according to JDA, we’re to be honest with our loved ones. That means you have to come clean with your wife about your addiction. You’re not adhering to the program. How is Neve supposed to support your efforts to stay sober when she doesn’t even know you’re an alcoholic?” He puts his hands on his hips.
“My drinking problems were before I met her. I haven’t relapsed. Not even once.”
“It doesn’t matter. You know the rules. You have to be transparent with everyone about your addiction. We’re always going to be addicts. Who knows, you could rebound. You have to tell her.” He gapes at me in horror.
“Mind your business, Cash.” I step closer, getting in his face, close enough that I can smell the spearmint from his chewing gum. “I mean it. Not one word to Neve.”
“Don’t tell me to lie for you. I won’t broadcast to the world that you’re a drunk, but I’m not going to cover for you either. If it comes up in therapy, I will be honest.” He leaves before I have a chance to change his mind.
Anxiety seeps into my soul like water into a piece of driftwood that’s been floating at sea for a lifetime. I realize my chances of ever having a future with Neve are pretty much nil, but this bit of information would certainly seal a disaster. More importantly, if she found out, what would it mean for me getting paid? I remember the disgust Neve had on her face as she talked about her mother’s drinking. I can only imagine how it ruined her life and left permanent scars.
Scars that might trigger her to turn on me or prevent me from getting what’s rightfully mine, the money paid to be on this show. If we leave the boot camp early, we get nothing. Not a penny. If I let her in on my past, there’s no telling how she’ll react, especially while on camera.
There’s a part of me that hates myself for not sharing my alcoholism with Neve. But I don’t really owe her that courtesy, do I?
Who am I kidding?
Fucked Six Ways To Sunday
Neve
Unpacking all of my clothing, shoes, panties, Spanx, jewelry, wigs, skin care, and make-up takes longer than I expect. As I fill up each drawer with my belongings I can’t help but stew over Tara Freakin’ Storm.
How the fudge did she get on this show?
I put my last dress on the hanger when it occurs to me.
Brill, Inc. had to of known all along that she’d be cast too. How could they not?
Manolos flying, I throw my shoes into the closet.
Damn them.
Livid, I kick my empty suitcase.
Afterward I lock myself in the bathroom, where there are no cameras, and call my publicist. As the phone rings I look around.
Typical of a reality show set-up, the room features a Jacuzzi right in the center, large enough for a gang-bang, a shower encased in see through glass is off to one side, a mini-fridge stocked with Veuve Clicquot, and mirrors everywhere, on the ceiling, along the walls, and even parts of the floor. Perfect for sex, arguments, and major TV cray-cray.
“Taddy!” Pulse speeding, heartbeat pounding, I seethe, fantasizing about pulling my publicist by her gorgeous red hair and throwing her off this bedroom’s balcony into Tarla Storm’s arms. Clearly I have anger issues.
“Hey, darling.”
“Don’t you dare ‘hey, darling’ me, Taddy Brill.”
“I have Kiki in my office. I’m putting you on speakerphone. How’s the show going?”
Ughhh. I hate when she does this. Now I can’t royally rip her a new one. With Kiki you have to be politically correct at all times. Unlike Taddy, Kiki is sensitive. She’s also the one who pitches my products to the press. If I come off to her as an ungrateful loon I can kiss my fabulous editorial coverage goodbye.
“Hi, Miss Adele,” Kiki greets. “Are you having a great time with—”
“I cannot believe you put me on this program knowing full well that Tarla Storm is on here too.” I can’t help myself. I want to reach through the phone and poke her beautiful eyes out.
“Oh, right. Didn’t I tell you?”
“Uhhh, no.” I stomp my foot as if they can see me demanding the truth. For once, I’d love it if someone had my back. Could be Vicky. Could be Taddy. Anybody. Somebody.
“Well, you know we do the publicity for Waris Sugar. After all, it was Brill, Inc. who organized your sex tape with him,” Taddy reminds me smugly.
“How could I forget?” I roll my eyes. Trying to get my emotions in check, I hold my breath for a few seconds. Tears streak my face.
“What’s the big deal?” Kiki asks in an interested tone.
“Tarla is bat-shit crazy. She’s been on two other reality shows with me. The last one nearly got us both arrested. Correction, she went to jail. I went to the dentist after she knocked my two front teeth out.” It was time for me to get veneers anyway, but still.
“The restaurant where your fight went down eventually dropped the charges.”
“That’s not the point, Taddy!”
“Listen, Neve. I’m going to tell you something and you’re not going to like it, but you need to hear it.” I lean up against the bathroom sink to brace myself. “LUX TV didn’t want you. They told us you couldn’t bring in the ratings. When I threw Tarla Storm at them, they jumped at the chance to work with her. Waris is a huge star. She’s pregnant with his child. You do the math. It makes for great TV.”
“You’re lying.” Breathless, I gasp and start to shake.
“I’m sorry, Neve. I really am. I didn’t want to tell you. Not like this.”
Clutching at my chest, I draw my hands up to my lips and try not to stutter. This is a shock to my whole system. One I didn’t see coming.
“You and I both know that baby couldn’t possibly be his. And if it is, then it sure as hell wasn’t conceived the natural way.�
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“That’s a moot point, Neve. I did you a favor. The deal I made with LUX TV was that they could have Tarla and Waris if they were willing to add you to the mix.”
Hot tears fill my eyes and I sob.
“Don’t get upset, Neve. It’s gonna be great,” Kiki encourages.
Banging my head against the wall, I feel a migraine coming on. Maybe I can knock myself unconscious and be excused from taping for the rest of the week. Wouldn’t that be nice?
“I’m crying because I just realized that Tarla is a bigger star than me.” Something I’ve never admitted to before. “I should’ve fucked Waris and gotten pregnant with his baby when I had the chance. But do you know why I didn’t, Taddy Brill? Because I’m an honest, upstanding person who would never stoop to such a low thing. I have self-respect. I have dignity. I don’t know how Tarla can even look at herself in the mirror every morning without throwing up.”
Taddy snickers so much that it turns into her infamous snort.
“Miss Adele, you just married a man you didn’t know so you could be a cast member on the show. With all due respect, you’re no better than Tarla Storm,” Kiki voices sternly.
“Fuck both of you.”
Flexing my fingers, I hold the phone out from my hand, about ready to push the end button, when Taddy shouts, “Don’t hang up on us, darling. We have a challenge for you and Sheldon.”
Curious, I put the phone back up to my face and demand, “Talk.”
“I want you to beat Tarla at her own game. Expose her and the pregnancy for what it is: a shame. Turn her relationship with Waris upside down and inside out.”
“Do what you do best, Miss Adele,” Kiki chimes in with encouragement.
“And what’s that?”
“Give ’em crazy weave pulling—bitchy table flipping—dangerous car crashing—scary face busting—hell,” Taddy replies as if I need further motivation.
“What benefit do you get if I ruin these two? Waris is your client too.”
“Blake has run numerous marketing studies and focus groups on Waris. If he were to come out of the closet his fans would embrace him even more. His music sales would spike. We’d plan a big coming out tour for him during the next Gay Pride events. It would fabulous.”
“Does Waris know about this? Is he using that poor woman just to carry his baby like an unloved surrogate?” I tug on my citrine earring and think back to what my psychic, Charmaine Whitedove, had told me when she’d given them to me.
“Wear these stones. They’ll bring you business success, personal power like never before, and abundance.”
“Abundance in what?” I’d asked.
“Whatever your soul craves at the moment. Could be TV ratings or even the love of your life.”
Back then I’d balked at the thought, but now I’m starting to think otherwise.
“Miss Adele, we can’t speak for Waris, but we can tell you that he is excited to be a dad and that he is looking forward to being on this show with you,” Kiki stated cryptically.
“With me?” I really don’t understand what the hell these two ladies are talking about.
“Neve, you know that Tarla blackmails people and worms her way into situations at other folks’ expense, right?” Taddy says in a grudging voice.
“Yeah, so?”
“Do you honestly think that sweet loving Waris Sugar, a boy from Alabama who still calls his mother every day, even when on tour, would honestly marry someone like Tarla Storm without good cause?”
Jesus. “Tarla’s got something on Waris?”
“She could ruin his career,” Taddy replies.
“We’re hoping, Miss Adele, that you’ll destroy Tarla first,” Kiki elaborates.
“Oh my. Now I get it. Wow. Well, we didn’t discuss this before I signed on. Looks like I’ll need some type of incentive, you know, to take Tarla down.”
“Don’t you dare, Neve.” One of them muffles the speakerphone, probably Kiki. Obviously Taddy is bitching me out, but the only thing I hear is a woman who resembles Charlie Brown’s teacher from the cartoon Peanuts.
Abruptly the sound stops. Taddy sighs heavily into the phone. “If you expose Tarla, giving Waris good cause to dump her before the show is done taping, preferably on camera, I’ll make sure that Macy’s buys into your handbag line,” Taddy voices proudly.
“Kiki, you’re my witness to this.” Feeling weightless, my hands start to tingle.
“I heard Miss Brill loud and clear,” she says.
“Okay you two, you’ve got yourselves a deal. I’ll get to work on Operation Tarla Takedown,” I declare. My earlier miserable thoughts about this show fade with a renewed outlook on the horizon, one that’s bright and devious. I can do this!
My phone beeps. The screen lights up with ‘Icky Vicky.’
“Cersei Lannister is calling me. Gotta go.” I joke, wishing I were watching Game of Thrones about now.
“Who?”
“Never mind. Talk to you gals later.” They both say their good-byes as I click over. “Yes?”
“Hi, baby girl. It’s your mama.”
I hate when she calls herself my mother. She is anything but.
“What do you want?” I ask and make my way over to the closet.
“Just seeing if you’d given any more thought on the call we had earlier in the week.”
I scan my thoughts for any recollection, but I’m honestly drawing a blank. I always try and push all things Vicky Hendricks out of my mind just as quickly as they enter.
“Refresh my memory.” I begin to file the shoes I’d thrown all over the place earlier into a neat row.
“Remember that reporter who’s offering me a large sum of money to do that interview on you and your new hubby.”
“Vicky, what on earth would you have to say about Sheldon? You never even met the man, let alone know one thing about him.”
“I understand plenty. The magazine hired one of those private investigators to dig up some dirt on his past. They’ll feed me the info, which in turn I’ll give back to the reporter as if it were firsthand knowledge.”
“So it’s true. Pigs do eat their own shit. Don’t they?” With every ounce of control in my body, I try to remain composed. I never let Vicky get to me. Not when I was little girl, and certainly not as an adult.
Maybe this is my karma coming back on me for agreeing to ‘Operation Takedown Tarla.’
Damn that’s quick.
I remind myself of the difference between Tarla’s demise and Vicky’s attempt stir up trouble. Tarla signed up for this reality TV show shit. So, bring it! With Vicky, I never asked for any of it.
“Neve. Don’t talk to your mama that way.”
“You are not my mother. You never have been and you never will be. Do not call me ever again.” I hang up.
I turn to see Sheldon in the doorway, his body all hot and glistening from working out. Dayum.
“You okay?” he asks, taking a step forward. Testosterone oozes out from every pore on his please-fuck-me-now-body.
“Uh-huh.” A hard lump of lust forms in my throat.
“Take a shower with me.”
“Can’t. I have some e-mails to get to before dinner and—”
“It wasn’t a question, Neve. Get undressed.”
Shocked at his bossy-ass tone, my mouth opens, ready to retaliate. But before I can get a chance to say anything, his lips come over mine and we kiss. He tongues me fiercely, his hard cock pressing against me as he mutters, “Don’t you remember? Earlier I said I wanted to fuck you.”
A lightness, one that I’ve never experienced before, rocks through my body as my muscles tighten. For a brief moment in time, I forget about Tarla Storm’s ugly ways and Icky Vicky’s desire to blackmail her only daughter. Instead I think about this man, his male beauty, and the fact that he wants to devour every inch of my body. And for once in my life, I think I’m going to finally give in to this temptation.
“How could I forget?”
Into
Temptation
Sheldon
Two years I’ve been sober.
Two years and I’ve not been in the company of a woman. I swore off sex when I gave up booze. For me, they’ve always gone hand and hand. But not now! Tonight is going to be my first time having sex sober. For as long as I can remember, whether I was sixteen and losing my virginity or in college at a frat party, I’ve always been a bit drunk when fucking. Never sober. Until now.
In the shower her body comes up next to mine. My flesh tingles with excitement. I trace a washcloth over her backside admiring every inch of her body with an alert focus, the foam gently gliding over her milky complexion.
“Spread your legs for me, Wonder Woman,” I demand, my voice ringing with authority.
She does as she’s told.
Kneeling down, I run the washcloth gently between the folds of her flesh, kissing the inner part of her leg as she giggles, and then her pussy as the water jets down. “So beautiful. So sweet. So mine.”
Turning her around, she places her palms against the wall as if being arrested and sticks her apple bottom up at me. “I love your ass.” I glide the fabric over her cheeks while my fingers play with her butthole. She squirms in my hands. “Have you at least had anal sex?”
Legs stiffening, she whips around, glaring at me in surprise. “No, Shel.”
Her perky breasts stare back at me.
My left hand cups one as I nip on the other, first playfully. I trace my tongue around her areola before sucking firmly down on the better half of her breast.
Clawing my back with her nails, she moans, leaning her torso into mine.
Glances darting, I lift her into my arms. Carrying her out of the shower, I make my way over to the bedroom.
Breasts jiggling, she falls onto her back against the white soft pillows.
“Spread those pretty long legs for me.”
She does. Her skin flushes.
Just like at the courthouse, before we’d gotten married, I bury my face between her legs. Neve’s hands knot in my hair, pulling tighter and tighter as she reaches new heights of ecstasy.
“Fuck me,” she pants in my ear with a sense of urgency.
Every time she looks at me, my heart turns over in response. I’m falling for this woman.
