by Tl Mayhew
“Is that what you want? Is sitting here with me embarrassing for you? If it is then just leave, but I’m not giving these assholes the satisfaction.”
Turning ten shades of red, I’m not sure I can backpedal my way out of this, but I try. “I’m not embarrassed being here with you. In fact, fuck them.” I add that last part a little louder so everyone around us can hear before raising my empty water glass. “I’m staying too.”
It earns me a chuckle and a clink of his glass. “That’s my girl.” His actions lessen the discomfort of the entire situation.
“So you said you had a story to tell?” I ask, taking a bite of salad.
“I do, but why don’t we start with you first?” His stare is inquisitive as he sets his fork down on his plate.
“Me?” I laugh. “I’ve nothing interesting to say about me.”
He leans in and reaches for my hand, “Oh come on, a beautiful girl like you. There must be something you can tell me about yourself. How long you’ve lived in LA and what do you think of it?”
I’m starving and have only gotten one bite of food in me but set my fork down as well, because this will take some time. “I’ve lived in LA for about thirteen years. What do I think of it? Well, it’s expensive as hell. Since my parents died it’s been a struggle living on my own. I have a little bit of money left, but I’m trying to make it last by living in some run-down apartment on the east side.”
He chuckles.
“What?”
“You must really be struggling if you’re living on the east side. I have some friends over that way. What building do you live in?” His tone is still lighthearted.
My hands fidget. And I consider changing the subject. I don’t know him well enough to be giving out too many personal details but then again, we’re on the same film, and they must’ve vetted these people in some way.
Recognizing my nervousness, he places his hand on mine. “Don’t worry, its not like I’m asking to move in or anything. And I’m certainly not a serial killer. It’s just I have some friends over there, and I’d be curious to know if it was in the same building. Maybe we could meet up again sometime.”
His last comment makes me laugh. “You’re right, just being careful because you never know.”
“You never know.” There’s an edge in his tone now.
I shrug it off and begin spewing out more details than I should. “It’s the four-story brick building next to the old flour factory.”
“Hmm.” He raises a hand to his chin and taps his lips with a finger.
While he’s distracted, I sneak a peek at his tattoo. It’s a hook, like something you’d find in a meat locker. Perched just in the middle of the arch is a firefly. It’s unusual. I can’t imagine it’s meaning, other than it looks like something from a fairy tale. Which I doubt would be on someone like him.
“Yes.” His finger points at me sharply. “I know the one. My friend, Lance, lived in that building.” When his expression morphs into one of disgust its clear he’s referring to the right place. “You live there?”
Just as I’m about to answer, gasps and a low rumble of consistent chatter begins. Every other word out of their mouths is Preston.
Unsure what’s going on, I lift my eyes to Rook but he’s not looking at me. Following his gaze, I see Preston pushing open the door and stepping inside.
He looks around briefly before his sights focus on Rook. His presence is crackling with so much irritation it follows him into the room, putting everyone on edge. The fact he’s even here is surprising, but it’s nothing compared to what he does next. “Everyone, out!”
My mouth drops open. Did he just order an entire restaurant full of people to leave?
People scurry from the building, no questions asked.
Witnessing that kind of power is surreal. Empty tables and plates filled with food now deserted because some bastard thinks he has a right to commandeer an entire place for himself.
He stops a waitress on her way out. “Here,” he hands her a stack of bills, “this should more than cover everyone’s food and their inconvenience.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. Pace,” she says, lingering on a long sigh before she recognizes his disinterest and joins the rest of the patrons outside. Where they all stand on the opposite side, peering through the window, and watching how this is going to play out.
I’ve loved this man from afar for I don’t know how long. Had I known he was such a dick, I probably wouldn’t have given him a second thought. Although that’s not entirely true, because looking at him right now, some point between the warehouse and here he’s removed the chef’s jacket and is now sporting is a formfitting T-shirt.
I stand, intent on confronting the man whom I’d now rather not even be in the same room with. Taking a step, I point a finger and begin my verbal assault. “How dare you…”
Rook yanks at my arm. “Have a seat. We’re not leaving.”
“I wasn’t going to leave, I was…”
“Sit,” he orders.
Not him too. The testosterone levels in this small café just shot up tenfold.
Still standing, I glance between them. Preston’s eyes are on Rook’s hand covering my wrist, and Rook’s grin is morphing into some sort of mischievous smile. This is some sort of celebrity pissing match.
Neither of them knows me, but it looks as though they’re about to kill the other over me.
When I decide I’m no longer interested in this conversation, I try to break free from Rook’s grip—he squeezes tighter. “Let go…” I tell him, panic raising my voice an octave higher.
“Just have a seat. It seems the three of us are having a talk,” he says, pulling me down onto the chair next to him and wrapping his arm around my shoulder.
Every part of me is shaking. At this point in time, I’m not sure who I should be more afraid of.
“Let her go, Rook. This is between you and me.”
“No can do, man. I saw the way you were looking at her and then to find out you invited her out for drinks. Tsk tsk. Just remember, I know your dirty little secrets. I think she’ll be a lot safer here with me.”
Preston’s step falters at Rook’s comment but he recovers quickly, and he closes in on us. “Whatever you think you know about me is bullshit.”
The grip around my wrist tightens as the level of emotion rises. I try to pull away. “Please just let me go.” My pleas are ignored.
“I don’t know, man, Tinka was pretty adamant about how you like things done.”
“You motherfucker!” Preston shouts, stalking toward the table.
Rook releases me, preparing to defend himself and I use it as a chance to break free, but it’s only for a moment because Preston reaches out and grabs my arm.
When our skin connects it’s electrifying, sending a jolt through my entire system. My instincts are telling me to slip from his grasp and run, but my body is leaning in, melting in his arms.
“Everything okay in here, Mr. Pace?” a man asks, strolling in like he didn’t just step into a celebrity fight match. His nonchalant attitude is almost comforting, like this kind of thing happens all the time. Maybe it does.
“Everything’s fine, Garret. Can you take Winsley to her apartment?” I’ve got some things to finish up here.” His stare narrows back on Rook.
“Yes, sir.” the stranger replies, reaching for my arm, but I pull away.
I have no idea who this man is, in fact, I don’t really know any of these men. Not well enough to leave with them, yet they each feel they can put their hands on me. “It’s okay, I can drive myself home.”
In a swift move Preston pulls me to his chest. It’s not an intimate move. In fact, I crash against him like a rag doll. And what he says next leaves no room for debate. “You’ll ride with Garret, that’s not negotiable.” Glancing from me to Rook and back, he adds, “On second thought, Garret take her to my penthouse, it seems she and I have some things to talk about.”
8
Preston
Once they’re gone Rook leans back in the booth, a sick confidence exudes from the space around him. “You have a lot of nerve coming back here,” I tell him.
“Last time I checked, you didn’t own the production company and unless I’m mistaken, the law doesn’t prevent me from taking another job with Mercury Inc.”
“A restraining order might.”
“Do you have one?” he asks.
Neither I nor the production company has one, so I remain quiet.
“Exactly what I thought. You know what that means, right? You have no control over where I work, or what I do. Which includes that nice piece of ass Winsley.”
“Stay away from her,” I warn.
“Or what? Leave her in your capable hands where you can teach her to be your sex slave? I don’t think in good conscience I can let that happen,” he retorts.
I step in closer, a flash of panic flits over his face. “How does that differ from you drugging them and fucking limp bodies after they’ve passed out. At least the women I’m with are conscious and begging for it.”
He pulls a phone from his pocket. “How about we call Tinka and ask her how often she begged to get fucked?”
It’s the last straw for me. I’m quicker than he is, and I reach across the table, grabbing the collar of his shirt, pulling him like a rag doll across its surface.
The last time I saw him, he was in much better shape physically and would’ve made a worthy opponent, but years of alcohol and drugs have made his body weak and vulnerable. Now, he’s losing his energy and this fight.
I raise my fist and prepare for impact, but an image of Winsley chooses this very moment to flood my mind and I hesitate.
She was scared, shaking even, but instead of feeling any remorse for causing her distress, all I can think of is how much I’d love that same reaction from her in my bed. I suspect she’d say my chances of that are a cold day in hell, but I’m confident I can convince her otherwise.
Unfortunately, my daydream has put me in a position where Rook is no longer the victim. He pulls away and lays a hard uppercut on my chin before raising his hand for another. Luckily, I’m able to thwart his next attempt because his fist was headed straight for my nose, and breaking it would mean a delay in filming.
He continues his swings, making a few solid hits against my chest and side, but they have no effect on me and this game is no longer interesting. Instead of knocking him on his ass, I grab his wrists, twist them behind his back, and buckle his knees until he’s lying flat on the ground.
Cheers and clapping sound from outside. When I glance up, I find a larger crowd has gathered on the other side of the window, snapping pictures, and recording the entire thing. One even gives me a thumbs-up.
“Fuck. We’ve got a much bigger audience now.”
Rook cranes his neck, glancing in the direction of the window, and then dropping his forehead to the floor. “You’re a son of a bitch. This is just one more thing the media will have a field day with.”
Sirens wail in the distance and their timing couldn’t be more perfect, or so I thought.
He lets out a deep breath and flips onto his side, elbowing me in the groin.
I double over.
“You’d better watch your back,” he says, kicking me in the stomach with the pointed toe of his shoe before heading toward the door.
From my position on the floor, I see the crowd part as he walks out. No one tries to stop him, instead most just stand there in awe while others come rushing in to see if I’m okay. I’m thankful for those who offer help, but really, I just want to get the fuck out of here. He’d given me a warning but I’m not returning the favor. He’ll get his, and I plan on being the one who delivers it.
The red and blue lights flash a steady pace outside, but I’d rather not deal with the police.
Glancing around, I look for another exit. There’s no hiding from this, it was probably all over the web after the first punch was thrown, but I’m not in the mood for hours of questions when they’ll only send me home anyway.
“This way,” the waitress I’d handed the money to earlier says. “We can head through the kitchen into the back alley.” Like a godsend she leads me away from the masses of people who’ve now filled the small dining area.
When I step into the alley, my driver is waiting near the rear door of the limo, opening it when I approach. I’m not sure how he knew where to meet me because I hadn’t told him.
Once we roll out onto the interstate, I tap out a quick text to Garret.
Got into it with Rook.
Cops are here. I snuck out the back
I’ll be there shortly
The traffic is still typical LA bumper-to-bumper on the way home. Everyone is heading back to work after lunch, and it makes me think of where I should be. It’s unclear if there will be any more work on the film today. I hadn’t stayed long enough for any of the announcements after I’d followed Rook and Winsley out when they left for lunch, which means I don’t know what is going on back at the warehouse.
There’s been no reply to my earlier text. I decide to call Garret.
His voice permeates the interior of the vehicle through the speakerphone. “It’s all over the internet. I’ve got directors and producers on one line and the cops on the other. What would you like me to tell them?”
“I’ll tell you about it when I get there. For now, find out if they’re rescheduling today’s shoot. And you can give the cops my address; we can explain everything when I get there. Oh and, Garret…”
“Yeah?”
“…how’s she doing?”
“As well as any woman would be in a strange man’s penthouse—even yours—she wants to go home. You might as well tell me now where you keep your handcuffs because if you’re not here in the next five minutes, it’ll be the only way I’ll be able to keep her here.”
There should be humor in his tone. Something. Anything that would say he’s kidding. But I get nothing. He wouldn’t know a way around a woman’s body if she was sitting on his face, and I’m most certainly not telling him where my cuffs are, or any toys for that matter. By now he must know I also don’t share my women. If he tapped her with that pencil dick of his, she might as well leave because it would be over before it ever got started.
Maybe I’m jumping the gun; she’s not my woman, but I have a feeling it’s only a matter of time.
“Just try and keep her calm. Do you think you can do that?” I ask.
“Sure man,” he replies.
Disconnecting the phone, I slip it back in my pocket and glance out the window. I notice the traffic around us letting up and I call out to the driver, “Jake, can you kick it up?”
“Yes, sir,” he replies, and the long car jolts forward.
9
Tinka
The video is grainy and sent anonymously to my phone. This is the fifteenth time I’ve watched it, yet I still have no idea who the girl is or why she’s there with Rook, and why my Preston is letting her lean into him like that.
Even though my past with both of these guys has been riddled with heartache and physical pain, it doesn’t mean I’m ready to watch them hook up or fight over some new piece of trash, who for some reason thinks she deserves a place in their lives.
I squeeze the phone, wishing I were stronger and could feel it breaking. Sure, I could smash it against the wall, but I don’t think I’d find it nearly as satisfying as using my own hands. Instead, I settle for dropping it facedown on the café table outside the very restaurant they were at earlier.
I’m not sure why I’m here, whether it’s hoping he’ll come back, or if she will, alone.
Finding out who she is would be as simple as asking Rook, but right now I’m not prepared to answer all the questions he’d ask. And if I held back, he would surely come to his own conclusion, which I expect would be right on target.
There is no one, and I mean no one, who will want any part of what I have planned. Which is okay because
I won’t need any help.
A waitress approaches the table. “What can I get for you?”
“Bring me a gin and tonic…” I tell her, but pause briefly to glance toward the XJ sedan across the street with my driver in it, and add, “make it a double.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the woman says, drifting back into the café.
The large black floppy hat atop my head and sunglasses too big for my face have done their job well, otherwise, I’d be swarmed by fans. The tabloids can say whatever they want about me and how this breakup has ruined my career, but none of it’s true. Only one film on my docket, pfft, my agent can name off at least five upcoming films and a limited television series. I’m not worried.
While I wait for my drink, I lift my phone from the table and watch the video once again, pausing on a shot of her face then expanding the image with my fingers, I stare at it for the longest time. “Who are you?” I ask the screen, imagining she’ll magically tell me. Instead something even better happens.
“Hey, that’s the girl who was here earlier,” the waitress says, setting my drink down on the table.
I almost give myself whiplash twisting my head around. Tipping my sunglasses, down I pin a hard stare on her. “You were here?”
“Sure was,” she says, holding a big round serving tray to her chest. “I actually waited on them, her and Rook.”
His name rolls off her tongue like smoke from a cigar. I throw up a little in my throat. There’s no way he’d ever be interested in a waitress, especially one as plain as her. Nevertheless, she may have information I need. “He’s a dream, isn’t he?”
“God, yes. He’s on my top ten list of celebrities for sure,” she says, fanning herself.
Intrigued I ask, “Oh? Top ten?” Instantly regretting the question as soon as it’s asked because she laughs and pulls up the seat next to me. It’s a move of someone who has a story to tell. One I don’t expect the time or patience for, and by the looks of her it’ll be a long one.
