by Fifi Flowers
“Excuse me, you two, but we have dinner reservations, tonight. I’d like to go back to the hotel to freshen up and change clothes . . . maybe rest awhile. We only have one car waiting for us at the moment, so let’s get going.” Dave’s words shattered the illusion, or I should say, my delusional thoughts. As quickly as I hoped I had a chance, Sofie’s wall was back up. Arriving in front of a waiting, black Suburban outside, she promptly hopped up in to the front passenger seat, away from me, while the rest of us climbed in the back.
Later that night, we met in the lobby lounge for a cocktail before heading out to an award winning restaurant in Sausalito that was partly owned by one of the producers, whom was not present on the trip. Sitting on a leather couch, facing the bar entrance, I saw Sofie stroll in. She was stunning, as always, wearing a fitted, short sleeve, low-scoop neck, knee-length, pale grey dress with silver, and high-heel sandals. Every curve was on full display. No panty lines. I took a deep breath, followed by a big gulp from my crystal tumbler filled with two-fingers of whiskey, envisioning the pretty, pink flower with soft, lickable petals, beneath her garment.
She refused to make eye contact with me. “Are we ready to go, gentlemen?” They all nodded their heads, finished their drinks, and stood up. Sofie had all of us under her magical spell, even Dave. I had to shake my head and laugh. God, I loved her.
Once at the restaurant, we were directed to a semi-private room, off to the side, facing out onto the bay. An elegant table was set up for us. Glasses, along with decanters, filled with red wine from the producer’s Napa vineyard were ready to be enjoyed. It was amusing to watch Dave maneuver us around so he that he had Sofie seated at the head of the table, next to me. He actually had a gleam in his eye as he looked between us. She, on the other hand, appeared tense, wearing a fake smile. I wasn’t sure whether I should’ve kissed Dave, or punched him.
Throughout several courses of delectable food, paired with incredible bottles of wine, the main topic of discussion centered on the film. They were all elated by how well every aspect of the post-production was coming together. The anticipation of the box office. What the critiques would think. More important to Dave, what the academy would think. He was going for gold . . . gold statues, at that. Seated next to Sofie, I was privy to her movement when each new element was introduced. I soon realized, there were many instances in which Dave, unknowingly, left Sofie out of the conversation. Things that he should’ve asked her, he directed toward me. When he was looking for an opinion here and there, he never opted for hers. Yes, I watched how her whole body stiffened. Her hands moved to her lap, clenching and unclenching. I had a clear shot of her suffering. I hoped she understood, when I interjected on her behalf, as Dave asked another undirected-to-Sofie question.
“Dave, I think Sofie has some input on the overall concept. I think you might want to hear how she feels…”
Before Dave said another word the rest of the night, he was careful to include his Sof. I nearly came in my pants, when I felt her hand on my thigh. I turned to her with longing in my eyes . . . like a puppy dog, thankful his master had rewarded him with a bone. She mouthed, “Thank you,” as her warm grip departed my leg. My body . . . my heart couldn’t take anymore; I was so ready to call it a night. However, Blaine insisted on moving to the bar area of the restaurant for one more drink before the two producers headed for the airport to make their way home.
Reluctantly, I meandered behind them, to the bar, as Dave had helped Sofie up from the table. Curling her arm around his, I heard him apologize to her quietly as she leaned her head on his bicep. I wanted to trade places with him. Instead, I joined in with the drunken conversation as we sat around a couple cocktail tables pushed together and ordered, yet, another round of drinks. This time, I asked for something a little stronger. I’d rather be oblivious to my surroundings than endure anymore. The night was proving to be excruciatingly painful. It reminded being of the days I spent at the Frog Pond a year ago; watching her, wanting her, not being able to grasp her, hold her. Only this time, looking at the most beautiful sight imaginable was far worse—I had had a taste of her. I truly knew exactly what a treasure I was missing.
Then, just when I thought the evening couldn’t possibly be any more unbearable, a text was delivered to my cellphone. A series of cozy photos featuring my Sofie and Marco. I scrolled through; some they were out somewhere eating, others, they were walking arm-in-arm. But the one that hit me hardest was of them lying next to each other on the bed in her trailer, parked at the studio. Once our refuge. She was now sharing it with another. Thank God she had clothes on; unlike the last photo I received earlier in the day. Though it still didn’t matter, clothed or not clothed, I was worried.
What was she doing with him?
Had she turned to him again?
Were they just friends?
Had they become lovers again?
They looked happy—too happy. They looked like they were laughing. I hated it. I couldn’t contain myself. “Are you punishing me, Sofie?” I asked softly, turning my cellphone screen to her beautiful green eyes that instantly widened.
“It’s not what it looks like. There is nothing going on.” She grabbed the phone from me. “What the… Where did you get that? Are you spying on me?”
“No, I am not spying on you. And… I could say the same thing about my situation. It’s not true.”
Ignoring me, she asked, “Did you install a camera in my trailer?” This question struck me. I was right, Blaine was behind this. The day he was in the trailer or on another occasion, he must’ve installed a camera. Looking around, where was he now? Off hiding in the restaurant, sending me these photos; films to Sofie? Shit! What other films . . . photos did he have of Sofie . . . of us?
“Sofie, I did not snap all of these photos…”
“All? What do you mean all?” I could hear an uneasiness rise in her voice.
“Someone is sending me random photos of you and Marco.” Sliding my finger across my phone pad, I located my photo folder, and opened it to reveal several photos. “Take a look.” I handed her my phone.
Watching her scroll through the photos, out of the corner of my eye I saw Blaine saunter in. He looked at the both of us. More importantly, he saw the look on Sofie’s face. I wanted so badly to get up and beat the living shit out of him. Instead, I gave him the death stare—the evil eye. He was gazing intently at me. I’m not sure what his expression meant. There was no smirk. There was no puffed out chest. There was no triumphant gleam. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve said remorse had taken over his whole face and body. So caught up in Blaine, I had not even realized that Sofie had vacated her chair.
Searching the restaurant, she was nowhere to be found.
Chapter Four
Sofie…
Returning from my trip earlier than planned, I was so happy to find Marco and Gracee waiting for me at Burbank airport. Funny, I had thought to call her on her cellphone to come rescue me, thinking she was still across the bay in San Francisco. Then, as I walked out of the restaurant, a couple was being dropped off by a taxi. Perfect. I asked him to take me to the airport. At first he flat out refused, but with the offer of a hundred dollar tip, he pulled away from the curb with me inside. Funny how money often gets people moving in the direction you desire. My luck may have sucked at dinner, but between the cab ride, catching the last plane out, and having two important people greeting me—maybe someone was watching over me, after all.
I rushed into Gracee’s arms. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see her in all of my life. I couldn’t help myself, tears poured down my cheeks as garble spewed from my lips.
“Oh my God, what must I look like to those producers—I just ran out!” That seemed to be my biggest concern. “Please let them be so inebriated, that they didn’t notice.” Then my favorite term rumbled and grumbled from my lips. “Damn boys-club!”
Gracee just held on to me tightly, stroking my hair, over and over. Reassuring me and telling me, �
�oh, honey, who gives a fuck?!” and “oh, fuck them!” to anything and everything I said.
Finally, there was a big throaty clearing noise. “Hey girls, let’s get out of here. Lots and lots of cocktails await us at home,” Marco said putting his arms around both of us. Nodding our heads, we all split apart and made our way to Gracee’s newest BMW 7-series, this one was midnight-blue. With Marco behind the wheel, we made it to Gray’s (Marco’s pet name for her) sectional sofa, in record time. Outfitted in comfy clothes, we curled up with a large pitcher of martinis that had my mouth running away with details. This time they were not mainly about work, but Drake . . . private detective Drake.
“There I sat, at a table filled with men. First, as I said, they ignore me. Then they didn’t. Thanks to Drake. And . . . and then, my knight in shining armor, once again, dulled.” I stopped to down my glass, wipe my tears, and then extended my glass. “Fill me up!” I cried, literally.
“What did that bastard do?” Gracee tipped back her glass too. “Fill!”
Marco laughed. “Shit! If you can’t beat, join ’em. I need to make more.” After pouring liquid in all three, he was up at the bar, mixing a new batch. “Go on or I will not share. You share; I share.”
That caused us to giggle, giving me time to regroup. “Where was I? Oh, yes. Marco, you and I have been under surveillance…”
“What?!” he exclaimed.
“Yep. Drake has had someone following me. Of course, you have been with me a lot. Drake had photographs. Several! Even ones in my trailer. Us in bed.”
“How? Why?”
“He claims someone has been texting them to him. He said he did not take them or hire someone. Why would someone send him pictures of us? I think it makes more sense that he would have someone follow me… I don’t know. He was jealous of you before…”
“Well he has no reason to be now.”
“I know that . . . you know that—Drake doesn’t. Blaine mentioned you in front of him a few weeks ago…”
“Who is Blaine?” Gracee interrupted.
“Some asshole; great cinematographer, but big asshole. He has it out for Drake.”
“Why?” Gracee’s inquiring mind wanted to know. Hell, I wanted to know.
“I don’t know. I just know Drake told me to stay away from him. The guy gave me the creeps from day one. I finally think I got his attention when I yelled at him to fuck off. He’s not my problem. There’s more shit going on. Drake thinks I’m fucking Marco again. He doesn’t know that you and Kimee are an item. Thank goodness Kimee was understanding of you hanging out with me.”
“Who is Kimee?” Gracee was way out of the loop.
Kimee, the buxom waitress he met in Boston, had proved to be more than a bimbo. She was actually a college student by day, majoring in finance. The island-beauty came to the states from St. Thomas with her family when she was sixteen, ten years ago. Though she came from a very prominent family, she insisted on working as a cocktail waitress a few nights a week for extra cash. According to Marco, she liked to play the dumb card—it got her more tips. Until she was certain a man could look beyond her double-Ds, she didn’t show them that she harbored a brain. Where I was concerned, she was a bit jealous in the beginning, but as soon as Marco started living with her, when he was not out of town doing theatre, their relationship had changed dramatically. I was shocked when he told me he was making every effort to line up work in NYC or Boston only. He had been avoiding the West Coast, until I called, and a job offer came through at almost the same time. Since he arrived, he called her daily. I even spoke with her a few times, when they video chatted. It was nice that he finally found someone.
After Marco was done telling us about his love life, Gracee hinted that her client had turned into so much more, but she couldn’t divulge any details. I hoped he wasn’t married. I wanted her to find the one, too.
Drunk me let them know how I felt . . . and a bit too much. “I’m so happy for you guys… I was happy until Porn Star Drake appeared.”
“I thought he was Detective Drake?” Marco questioned.
“Now, he’s Porn Star Drake? Spill the beans, Sofapillow, do not keep your sister in the dark!”
“Or me!” Marco exclaimed, and I unraveled the story to both of them.
“I find it hard to believe that Drake would do that to you. He loves you. I saw it that night in Boston. Again, Kimee and I are truly sorry for our behavior.”
I punched him. “Ouch! I said I was sorry,” Marco winced, causing me to laugh before tears sprang from my eyes. Putting his arms around me, he whispered, “Sorry, Sofa,” while Gracee rubbed me feet.
“Where is this tape? You still have it?” Gracee asked.
“Yes. On my phone.”
“Give me your phone.” Marco stood up. “Gracee, do you have cables to connect your phone to your big screen? We need to get a better look at it this.”
“I do, in the cabinet below the TV. Oh, goody, porn!” she cheered. I kicked at her. “Sorry, I forgot.”
With my phone hooked up, via Bluetooth technology, there it all was. I found it difficult to watch. I turned my attention to my martini. Ugh! Just what I didn’t need, Drake and the sluts up close and personal.
“Those are some nice, big . . . nice looking women… Hard to see the guy…” Gracee announced.
“Oh, you will get a better view. Guess the cameraman hadn’t figure out how bad the picture quality was until half through… Oh, here it comes…” I turned away and bit my lip, trying to stop tears from flowing.
“Holy shit!” Marco shouted. I knew he saw Drake’s face.
“He’s hot, Sofapillow!” Gracee equipped. Then I heard him start to laugh and my sister joined him.
I grabbed little throw pillows on the couch and tossed them at both of them. “My heart is breaking and you two are fucking laughing. What is wrong with you?”
“Sofa, do you recognize the room?”
“Yes, it’s part of the set.”
My sister laughed even harder. “Notice anything else?”
“No. Besides that that is definitely Drake; his face . . . his. . . . his body.”
“Ever fuck on that bed?” Marco cocked his head sideways, gazing at me.
“On the set? You said he like public sex. The thrilled of being caught . . . watched…” Gracee said, staring at me with her arm across her body, her elbow perched on it and her chin resting on her hand.
“Once. Drake felt the need to claim me . . . to mark me, again.” I sighed.
“I like him!” Gracee announced.
“Yeah, love how he’s always pissing on his territory!” Marco said laughing.
“You would.” I smacked him again with another pillow.
“Sofapillow, seriously, honey, you need to look at the scene again. Marco, rewind it.”
“I’ve seen enough, thank you. I’d prefer not to keep watching it”
“I don’t think you have seen enough,” Marco said while playing with my phone.
“Start from the beginning.” Here come the two girls. “You know them?”
“Yes, they work on the film.” He fast forwards to the guy entering.
“Does that look like Drake? I’m thinking that that is not him. I think the picture quality is on purpose,” Marco says.
“Okay, well when you fast forward, that is definitely him!”
“Let’s move on to that clear picture, Marco.” Bam! There he was and up popped my sister running to the screen. “Now look right here!”
Shit! I didn’t want to look.
“Look, damn it!” Marco shouted, pausing the frame.
“Look right here!” Gracee pointed to the body of the woman Drake was fucking. “What do you see on her hip?”
Marco nudged me. “What do you see, Sofa?”
“What the… What the fuck?” Started shaking my head. “I have never had a chick sitting on my face!”
“But you do have that heart shaped birthmark; same place I have mine.” Gracee pulled down h
er yoga paints to show hers off.
“Yes,” I said. Getting up, I looked more closely at the screen.
“Sofa, you work in the film industry. Someone filmed you and Drake having sex and doctored the tape. I’ll bet money that that first part is not Drake.”
“Who? Why? That’s a better question—shit! Blaine!” The questions and answer rolled out of my mouth.
“What is the story between Drake and Blaine? Fight over a woman?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve made a huge mistake—I’ve gotta go!”
“You can’t go anywhere. You’ve had too much to drink,” Gracee stated with her hands on her hips, followed by a hiccup or two. “Besides, he’s not home. You left him up North, remember?”
“Well, that’s true and not true,” Marco said, dangling my phone in his hand.
“What do you mean?” I asked, raising one eyebrow at him. His voice sounded like he was up to something. He knew something else that I didn’t. “Don’t play games, Marco. I know you too well.”
“David has been texting you.” Gracee spurted out.
“You knew too?” I gave her the pouty little sister look.
“Don’t do that! You know I hate it! We didn’t know what he wanted. We didn’t want to upset you. Marco looked when you went to change clothes, when we first got here. He told him you were okay. That you flew home. So they grabbed your stuff from the hotel and they all flew back down.”
“He’s home, Sofa.” Marco said quietly and I started to cry.
“I have to go to him… Please… Please… Call me a cab, or I’m going if I have to walk,” I said slipping on a pair of ballet slippers, wiping tears.
“I’m on it!” Marco used my phone to find me a ride over the hill. “Ten minutes…”
“And she’ll be off to make a new porno!” Gracee chimed in. Shaking my head at Gracee’s remark, we all laughed and they cracked jokes until the taxi arrived.
Pulling up my driveway, I saw the Audi was sitting in there. I thought, oh, thank God, he really is home! Quickly paying the fare, I jumped out of car and ran to the front door. Unlocking the door to my darkened house, I moved through every room, searching for Drake. It was late, I expected him to be in bed, but he was nowhere to be found. I looked out to the Jacuzzi; it was empty. But next to it, in the studio, dim light loomed through the window blinds. Sliding the doors off of my bedroom open, I stepped outside and walked to the door. Turning the knob slowly, I peered in. There he was, asleep on a low back, modern, turquoise couch in nothing but a pair of low-slung, black workout pants. As quietly as I could, I stepped back out the door, removed all of my clothing then quietly padded across the wood plank floor.
