by Hadley Quinn
When he pulled back, I refused to allow it, but he gave me a wicked smile. “Nuh-uh-uh, there’s more where that came from.”
“And I want it,” I replied, tugging his shirt toward me. “That was much better than the ferris wheel, so give me more.”
“And you’ll get it,” he resisted. “After you make it to the next platform.”
My mouth hung open in protest. “What? That is horrible, Josh. That’s like blackmail.”
“It’s called…tailored motivation.”
I rolled my eyes with amusement. “It’s called evil.”
With a chuckle, he removed the harness from the wall again and proceeded to hook me up. The only reason I allowed it was because he’d kiss me every few seconds until I was completely suited up, and let’s face it, his hands hooking straps against my groin made me giggle inside.
“There ya go, all set, beautiful,” he announced tugging the two lower straps at my hips. “Oh. Nice. I like that.” He gripped the straps, thrusting me forward a few times. “This could be interesting in other aspects of playtime,” he murmured, pretending to experiment with the concept.
“Knock it off!” I laughed, swatting him in the chest.
“Hand grips,” he added, jerking me toward him one more time. “Although...I think I’d like the traditional way much better.” Each hand tightened around my ass as he leaned down to kiss me again. “I’m so glad we don’t work together. I’d be in the bathroom jerking off all the time.”
“Oh, wow!” I laughed loudly. “Is this your way of distracting me?”
He smiled. “Maybe.”
“It’s kinda working.”
His fingers threaded through my hair. “Mmhmm. But truthfully, I can’t handle not touching you.”
He made me forget where we were or that I was hooked up to a contraption that could possibly lead to recurring nightmares.
“Hey Josh, you ready, man?” a voice called from above.
I tore myself from his hold and gasped, looking around for whomever was spying on us.
“Sounds like Gavin,” Josh said, studying me carefully. “Relax, babe, he can’t see us. Come on.”
He tugged my hand toward the steps, and like a stupid cow being naively herded to slaughter, I followed. Once we were at the top, my sexual adrenaline had worn off, and I was back to being a scared little wussy.
Gavin was an employee of Woody’s distressing adventureland, among a few others who were there to assist with our day. It was sweet of Josh to plan for an exclusive time at the park, so I didn’t want to disappoint him. And honestly, his advice about starting over in a big way was a pep talk I wanted to believe.
I let Gavin hook me to the damn zipline while I came up with as many curse word combinations I could think of.
Normally, I could listen to Josh’s voice all day long, but sadly, I tuned him out by the time I was about to be released to my demise. The other platform was just a smidge of a spot in my sight, signifying how far away it was, but I convinced myself it was only going to be a few seconds until I got to safety. I was about to ask how fast I’d be zipping, but Gavin had already let go.
“Holy shit!” I screamed.
“Don’t look down!” Gavin reminded me.
“Yes, Jolie, look down! See everything!”
I was gonna kill Josh. No doubt about it. But as I started coasting through the air, I knew there was no changing my mind. I opened my eyes and let the wind whip across my face, exhaling the breath of air I’d been holding.
Release the stress and negativity, I repeated to myself. Feel peace in my heart.
The angle of the zipline wasn’t very steep, so speed wasn’t an issue. I assumed it was probably the introductory stage, so you didn’t feel like you were facing your doom right off the bat, but damn, the height was scary as hell. I truly did allow myself to visualize all the weight of the past flying off me with every foot I glided—Chris’s lies, my insecurities, the doubt I had in myself, my guilt and regret…
They all vanished into the air, and I left them behind.
When I landed on the next platform, there was an employee there to help me. I was too overwhelmed to say much to him, even though he attempted friendly small talk. After Josh landed, his expression was one of concern and curiosity. He was probably worried I was going to call it quits.
“It was cool.” I shrugged casually when I finally caught my breath. “I’ll admit it.”
He grinned. “Really? You don’t hate me?”
“Not too much. Not yet, at least.”
“Well, I’ll take that.”
I was still feeling the significance of what I’d just done and wanted to keep it to myself. It hadn’t just been about trying some new form of adrenaline rush; it really had been a cleansing of my soul.
Josh said a few words with the other guy, who then stepped away for a minute. Turning back to me, he gathered my face in his hands and kissed me. “I always keep my promises.”
“Mmm, good.”
I returned his kisses until he said, “Mind if I go first this time? I’d rather watch you coming toward me instead of away.”
Instead of making a snarky comment about watching me die, I only nodded.
Proudly, I could admit I completed the entire course that day, and much to my surprise, was glad I did. Doing it again any time soon wasn’t exactly on my list, but I was grateful I’d been given the opportunity at least once in my life.
And I did feel renewed in some unexpected way.
Josh pulled off to a private creek bed on our way back into town. He removed lunch from a cooler, which was chicken salad, fresh rolls, and chocolate mousse pie from one of my favorite cafés. He also broke out a bottle of Sunny Delight.
“Oh wow,” I smiled as he proudly produced it.
“Bring back any memories?”
“Yes, quite well. My mom thought she’d have to get Drew checked for diabetes one day.”
He chuckled. “She never knew it was me that drank half a jug each time I came over?”
“She did. Eventually. I think it was the weekend Drew was at my grandparents’ house. A brand new bottle of Sunny D mysteriously disappeared from the fridge.”
“She knew you didn’t like it.” He nodded knowingly. “Aww, Mrs. C. She liked me.”
“Yes, she did,” I agreed.
“And what about your dad?”
I teetered my head back and forth. “Meh, not so much. He didn’t like teenaged boys in general. He still never believed you were as morally sound as I told him you were.”
“I wouldn’t trust boys with my daughter, either. They’d be getting interrogated, threatened, and would shit their pants at least once because of me.”
The thought was strangely sweet, even though I laughed. I could picture Josh with daughters. He would probably be the most protective, scary dad any boy would have to face.
That gave me a sense of peace, and that peace answered so many questions I didn’t know I had.
~20~
27 New Subscribers
I blinked at the message from my blog account. Twenty-seven? What? How? And…why?
Scrolling through the new email addresses, I skimmed for any weird content that could signal I was being spammed. Nothing seemed unusual, so I clicked on new comments from my last blog entry.
“I love reading your stories, Average Jo. This has been the highlight of my week!” -Melissa M.
“You put a smile on my face. Had to read through all your entries last night and couldn’t stop.” –JillyBean
“My husband and I read your blog together and had such a good laugh!” -S. Jones
I read six more comments from a mix of old and new subscribers. I’d maybe received three comments on my posts in the past month, and now that had been tripled?
“What the hell is going on?” I mumbled to myself.
I read my last two blog entries again, searching for some sort of answer. Had I said something to contribute to the new fandom? Had I unknowingly begg
ed for more readers?
I’ll admit, I kind of got hooked on reading my stories all over again. I smiled, laughed, shook my head, and laughed again. My ego might have bloomed a little brighter after that. Was it strange that I loved reading my own words?
Hmm. I tapped my finger on the edge of my computer as I stared at a blank page. Reading so much feedback got me thinking. Maybe a little too hard. I didn’t want to change how I’d been writing, so I needed to make sure opinions didn’t alter my style.
However, there were a couple of comments that were strictly asking about the high school sweetheart, so I just started to type. My date with “Jock” the day before had been interesting, so it was easy to summarize. And of course, I had to admit to all my blunders and confusion. Writing the end of my night was particularly comical—for myself, at least—and I got lost in my journal-esque storytelling.
After a few quick edits, I sent blog entry #16 to my thirty-six subscribers.
Having people enjoy reading about my life was a conundrum. I liked my privacy and rarely shared much with anyone in real life, but the interest from random strangers was oddly validating. Thank God they really were strangers and I was a nobody, but it was weirdly satisfying having people to “talk” to.
I stopped by my apartment complex later that morning to pick up my mail before my Monday shift. The building smelled like drywall and paint, so I was happy to see work was being done as promised. I climbed the stairs to the second floor because I wanted to see if there was any progress on my place in particular. I slowed at the loud voices coming from my neighbor’s place.
“If you weren’t so fucking selfish, this would work!” a woman’s voice screamed, followed by a loud thud as I passed Harlan’s dismal gray door.
“Selfish?” he retorted back. “You throw your dramatic life all around the place, in my face and at work, and I deal with it like a goddamn champ! And then you have the nerve to bitch me out in front of my friends? Fucking uncalled for, Vanessa! How dare you put me in that position!”
“Fuck you, fucking bastard! You’ll never amount to anything because of your goddamn ego!” Another loud sound; that time, breaking glass.
Harlan’s door flew open, and I scurried to my own apartment, fishing for my keys as quickly as I could.
“Good riddance,” I heard Harlan say while heels clacked heavily down the stairs.
My stupid door wouldn’t unlock, and I jiggled the key even harder, desperate to not be seen. Did they change the damn locks in this place, or what?
At last, I got it to turn, but not before Harlan saw me.
“I’m sure the whole damn building heard us, so no need to pretend you didn’t.”
I slowly turned to face him. The guy looked like hell in wrinkled clothing and the start of a beard. Okay, the facial hair looked nice on him, but he appeared worn down and pale—his eyes lackluster with defeat.
Taking a few steps his way, I asked, “You doing okay?”
He smiled, but it was sarcastic. “Hmm, define ‘okay?’” He motioned to his body with both hands. “I guess I have clothes on this time.”
I arched an eyebrow. “This time?”
He lightly scoffed. “Don’t ask.”
I wouldn’t. But I was picturing him naked and that wasn’t good. I cleared my throat. “Um, so, Vanessa is mild, huh? How’d you get so lucky?”
My laughter was forced, which he could tell, but he did smile. “Mmhmm, right? It’s called chemistry on camera but not in real life.”
Earlier, I’d compelled myself to stare at my door instead of the female storming off, so I never got a look at Vanessa. If she was anything comparable to Harlan, I was assuming she was a freaking model.
“On camera?” I questioned. “What exactly is it you do?” If he said porn, I was going to shit myself.
He sighed as he leaned his head against the wall, seeming tired. “I’m a photographer.”
I couldn’t hide my surprise. “Seriously? You’re behind the camera instead of in front of it?”
He smiled with amusement, and I could feel my face flush with heat. “Aww, is that a compliment, Jolie-in-2C?”
I turned for my door again. “I guess so,” I mumbled.
When I was almost inside, Harlan asked, “Would you like to see some of my work?”
Hesitantly, I stepped out and faced him again. I was going to decline, but the guy looked a bit optimistic. Maybe he needed a distraction after household items being thrown at him.
I barely bobbed my head. “Okay. Sure.”
He motioned me in with a warning to watch for the broken glass. I stepped over it carefully, noting it had once been a stem glass, and then he quickly swept it up into the garbage.
His apartment was an exact replica of mine layout-wise, so that wasn’t a shock, but the décor and atmosphere totally put mine to shame. It was tastefully done in a contemporary design with small splashes of color here and there, but the walls were beautifully dressed in black and white photography—all shapes and sizes.
“Wow, your place is amazing,” I admitted. “You will never step foot in mine. Ever. It’s embarrassing.”
He smiled but stood back, allowing me to survey his work.
“All of this is yours?” I asked, motioning to the walls. “You took every one of these photos?”
“Yes.”
I continued to study them. The mix of portrait style and settings were absolutely stunning. There was one of a pretty female leaning against a streetlamp with an old theatre in the background, and I think it was my favorite.
“5th Avenue Theatre in Seattle,” Harlan told me after I’d examined it for so long.
I nodded. “It’s a gorgeous photo.”
“Thank you.”
“You travel a lot, then?”
“Well, I used to. Not so much anymore.”
Nothing more than that, so I moved along to another photo, one that was most likely family. It was a single picture frame but contained two separate wedding photos. One looked at least thirty years old, and the other was more recent. Both “then and now” photos were of the same couple, dancing. The caption fancily scripted at the bottom of the frame read, “The Way You Look Tonight.”
It was propped on an end table instead of hung on the wall, so I picked it up. “Are these your parents?”
He barely nodded.
I carefully set the frame back on the table. “That is such a great photo,” I said, still staring at it. “Did you take the second one?”
Somehow, he’d silently moved next to me. “Yes. Last year. They’d been married for twenty-seven years, divorced for a year and a half, and then decided to get remarried.” He chuckled with a sad smile. “Was sort of a whirlwind of a life together, two passionate artists with similar personalities. But…they made it work. Decided life was fucked up enough; why not stick it out the rest of their time. Truthfully, I think they both realized they’d never find anyone else who would put up with either of them.” I laughed because he did, until he added, “But they both died four months ago. Car accident, hit by a drunk driver.” He turned away from me. “Life is pretty fucked up, isn’t it?”
My peaceful joy flittered into oblivion. “I’m-I’m sorry,” I offered lamely.
“Nothing to apologize for. We’re all meant to die sooner or later.”
I wondered if he truly felt so indifferent or if it was an act. I wandered across the room to buffer the awkward moment by gazing at a photo of a lovely couple in Paris. His work was amazing, truly eye-catching.
I could feel Harlan watching me, and as I passed him to view one last framed photo on the wall, the intensity of his gaze made me uncomfortable. When I met his eyes, they began to travel from one feature of mine to another, and then followed my form all the way down and back up again.
“I, uh, I need to get going,” I stated. “I have work and still need to go see my apartment.”
He silently walked me to the door and held it open.
“Thank you for sharing
your work,” I added. “It’s very impressive.”
He nodded, as if to thank me. He didn’t speak until I got to my apartment door again. “Perhaps you’d let me take yours?”
I fumbled with the doorknob. “Um, what? My what?”
“Your picture, Jolie. You’d be a stunning subject.”
Oh. Was that why he was gawking at me so closely? I was being summed up as an art subject? I’d have to say absolutely not.
“No, thank you.” I shook my head. “I’m not comfortable with something like that.”
“You’ll never know unless you try it.”
“I hate having my picture taken.”
“There’s a difference between having your picture taken and having your soul captured.”
Okay, I’ll agree that was a bit poetic. But the guy probably had lines like that conveniently tucked away in his pocket.
“No, thanks.” I smiled. “My soul likes to be evasive and undefined.”
I glanced at him one more time before disappearing into my apartment. He seemed pensive, leaning a shoulder against the wall, but gave me a single nod.
Shutting the door behind me, I took in the sight of my once livable home. It looked pretty much the same as it ever did. There were still fans spaced throughout but they weren’t on, and the remnants of drop cloths and paint tools were stacked in the corner.
I made my way to the bedroom, humming the song I’d had in my head since leaving Harlan’s apartment—the one written on his parents’ wedding photo, Frank Sinatra’s “The Way You Look Tonight.” As I observed what looked like finished repairs in my closet, I froze when a thought hit me. The day Harlan had pounded on my wall to turn the music down…
I’d been listening to Frank Sinatra.
~21~
Rap, rap, rap.
I paused at the sound against my door. I’d moved back into my apartment the next week and had only been inside for precisely thirteen minutes, and people already knew. There was no way Josh knew I’d moved out of his place—he’d been at work—and I hadn’t told my family yet.
