Say It Sexy

by Virna DePaul

  The break came on a Thursday, the fifth day we were in New Mexico. We’d just wrapped up filming the pilot episode the day before and were gearing up to begin filming Episode Two. Meanwhile, the editing team was working its magic so the pilot episode could air that night. Production would continue in this same vein for the next six months, with filming on a new episode beginning each Thursday just before the previous episode aired. The timing was highly unorthodox, at least for network television, where normally production spent weeks—not one day—editing film. But one of the things Lyle had insisted on before he agreed to direct the show was creating something that was as close to live TV as possible, with minimal editing. He believed the less polished the final cut, the more fresh and relatable it would be to the younger demographic the studio was targeting.

  It was a risky strategy, but it meant we’d know right away whether the chemistry between Gwen and me was going to pull in viewers. In other words, less cost to produce and less long term risk for us. It fit my personal philosophy. Why waste time on something that wasn’t working? Better to face the harsh reality and move on. Hopefully, audiences would respond well, production would continue through to the season finale in July, and then we’d pick up production of Season Two next January.

  So as scheduled, we spent Thursday filming part of Episode Two. By the time we called it quits around seven thirty, I was exhausted and thankful Lyle had set aside Friday, the next day, for us to rest and read lines, although that wouldn’t always be the case. Erica suggested the five of us have dinner together to celebrate the airing of the pilot, which none of us planned to watch. We were, it seemed, a neurotic and superstitious lot.

  As soon as Erica issued the dinner invitation, my gaze went to Gwen.

  Her eyes were already on me. She hesitated, and I was sure she was going to say no.

  Instead, she said yes and I’d felt a ridiculous sense of satisfaction. Hell, the way I felt, you’d think we were having our first date, only with three chaperones along for the ride.

  An hour later, all of us but Shane, who’d said he’d be a little late, were at Saguaro Del Rio, an upscale Mexican restaurant that adjoined the lobby of our hotel, Nativo Lodge. Nice place, really colorful. Festive, I supposed, was the word—everything done in traditional southwestern patterns.

  The hostess seated us near the back in a private booth framed by wooden screens. The lattices, decorated with fake flowers, corn wreaths, and chili peppers, rose to just above my head. I ordered an iced tea, no matter how badly I wanted a Jack and Coke. Gwen sat in the seat across from me, and, coupled with every other slanderous thing she thought of me, I didn’t want to add “potential alcoholic” to the list.

  Erica, on the other hand, had no problem kicking off the night with a shot of tequila. At least, that’s what she intended. But no sooner was the order out of her mouth that she shot a quick glance at Tyler, then shook her head. “You know what? Never mind. I’ll just have a soda.”

  Tyler slouched in his chair and allowed a small smile to tip his lips. He glanced at the waiter. “Bring her the tequila and any other kind of alcohol anyone wants. I’m fine. I’ll have a Coke.”

  I watched Gwen studying Tyler while trying to pretend she wasn’t studying anybody. The waiter just stood there, and the awkwardness choked us all. I was about to break the silence when Tyler laughed. I think it was the first time I’d ever heard him do that out of character. “I’m clean by choice, people. If I couldn’t handle being around alcohol, I wouldn’t have lasted as an actor as long I have, now would I? Let’s move on.”

  We all sort of shifted in our seats until I rapped my knuckles on the table and repeated, “Moving on.” I turned to the waiter. “I’ll have a beer.”

  “You’re old enough to drink?” that delicate, prissy voice I loved said.

  I turned to Gwen. “Huh?”

  “You’re so much younger than me, remember?”

  I grinned. “That’s right, I am. However, I’m legal. For everything that’s fun, in case you’re wondering.”

  She gasped then shook her head (albeit with a small smile on her beautiful mouth) before ordering her own drink, a girly-girl apple martini. I counted that as a victory. Turned out that surprising Gwen in a way she couldn’t help liking could become addictive.

  In record time, we had our drinks in front of us. When Shane walked in a few minutes late, the four of us did a double take. He wore black jeans, a Slipknot T-shirt, and a leather jacket. Low and behold, a piercing jutted out of his eyebrow, lower lip, and left ear lobe. I gaped for a moment. The guy looked like an evil twin of the Shane I had come to know. He dropped into his seat, oblivious to our collective stupor, and took up a drink menu. Casually, he raked a hand, fingers crowned in a few rings, through his spiked blond hair.

  He caught onto our gawking—mostly me and Erica it turned out—and looked up. “What?”

  “Nothin’, man,” I managed to stutter. Shit. He looked badass. He had pulled off the jock look, likely to look more professional, but this ensemble fit him like a glove. How I could tell him without it being weird was another matter. I hoped Erica or Gwen would take a stab at it, but they didn’t.

  The waiter swung by to set our table up with two woven baskets of warm, salty restaurant style tortilla chips along with several bowls of guacamole, pico de gallo, and some hot, cheesy dip.

  Gwen had to be a poor sport and wear a fitted red dress that hardly revealed any skin but still hammered home the fact she had a great body. So unfair. Why did she have to be so hot without trying? I tried not to stare at her, but it was proving to be difficult, and on several instances, our eyes would meet for a moment before she’d rip hers away.

  “So, Tyler…” Gwen ran her fingertip around the edge of her martini glass, and for some reason, I sensed trouble. “By what you said the other day, I’m guessing you’re not a fan of soap operas. Is that right?”

  “Oh, boy,” Erica groaned, dunking a chip into the guacamole.

  I grinned and leaned back in my seat. Comfort seemed paramount if we were all going to have to endure this conversation. “Fireworks coming early tonight.” I found myself looking forward to a variation of our first meeting together. Now that Gwen knew us all a little better, I wondered if she’d revert back to her uptight ways or if she’d loosen up enough to give Tyler a bad time and reveal a more fun-loving side to herself. I was hoping that was the case.

  “Now doesn’t seem like a great time to have an argument, gang,” Erica said, assuming the mother role of the group, even though she was maybe only twenty-three or twenty-four. I’d been impressed by everything I’d learned about Erica in the past week. She was sharp as a whip and down-to-earth, but she was also the epitome of responsible. Outwardly she was much more laid back then Gwen, but inwardly she was just as reluctant to let others see her true nature or get too close.

  Not that I could fault her for that; if Erica and Gwen were pots I was definitely a kettle.

  “We’re out,” Erica continued. “We’re supposed to be celebrating wrapping up the pilot.”

  Gwen smiled wide and the power of it almost took my breath away. For the first time ever, she looked like she was completely relaxed, comfortable amongst trusted friends. Yeah, I knew it was likely a lie, her way of lining up the pins in anticipation of bowling Tyler over for his insulting remarks last week, but it was easy to imagine that this girl was more like who Gwen was in her everyday life, when she was free of worry or the scrutiny of others.

  “Well, I think now is the perfect time to talk about it,” she said. “I don’t want to argue, I want to discuss. I was raised with dinner time conversation, unless you all prefer to eat in silence.”

  “Not me,” Shane replied.

  “Gwen,” Erica said, tossing her a knowing look. “I’m sure there are other topics to choose from.”

  “But none of them would be nearly as entertaining to watch.” I gulped back a swig of my beer.

  Erica scowled at me.

  “
Tyler feels a certain way about my work. I want to know what it is and why.”

  “Waiter!” Erica called just as the guy was passing our table on her end. “Excuse me, may I have another house margarita?”

  “Come on, guys,” Shane piped up, eyeing everyone. “We’re supposed to be a team here.”

  Tyler hadn’t said anything about Gwen’s attempt at conversation. Just sat there staring at us, face impassive.

  “Why is it we can’t have discussions without thinking it’s an argument?” Gwen asked. “A good debate can build camaraderie.”

  I shrugged my agreement. “And UST.”

  Erica caught the waiter by his sleeve before he could slip out of reach. “Can you actually make that a double?”

  Gwen’s brow furrowed. “What’s a UST?”

  “Unresolved sexual tension, Gwen,” I said softly, noting with satisfaction the way her eyelids flickered and she blushed before looking away. I straightened a little. Yeah, I knew a lot about UST, and despite trying to fight it, so did Gwen. Maybe with a little push from me, she’d be willing to admit it.

  “I swear I don’t have one of those…anymore.” Shane laughed, patting out a rhythm on the table.

  “Sugar, it’s a good thing you’re pretty,” Erica mumbled.

  Shane scowled with a half-smirk. “Uh…nice to know you think I’m pretty, but I was kidding. Someone has to lighten up the mood.”

  Erica squirmed and blushed, focusing her interest on her colorful margarita glass while at the same time trying to look like she was perfectly at ease.

  “It’ll be fine,” Gwen said. “I’m just curious to know Tyler’s thoughts on soap operas. So tell me, Tyler,” she encouraged. “You’ve won an Academy Award already. Surely, you know more than I.”

  To my surprise, Tyler straightened in his seat and folded his hands on the table, looking for all the world like he was actually happy to engage with the rest of us. “But you wouldn’t value my opinion if I hadn’t.”

  Gwen pursed her lips in thought. “Probably not as highly, no.”

  “At least you’re honest,” Tyler said, reaching for some chips.

  “Does anyone else want a margarita?” Erica asked.

  “Look, Vickers…” Tyler’s eyes locked on Gwen. “To each their own. Different people enjoy different types of entertainment. Variety is the spice of life and all that. There are just…some forms of entertainment that take more talent to produce.”

  Crystals of ice appeared in Gwen’s eyes like slivers of moonlight. “And you think your work is superior to mine because soaps use substandard actors?”

  “Oh, no, no…” Tyler shook his head, and I felt a bit of tension uncoil from the air. But the pressure soared right back to critical when he continued. “Not just substandard actors. Substandard scriptwriters, substandard soundtracks, camera, equipment, mics, stages, settings, characters…everything. It’s a cheesy business designed for a cheesy target audience who can’t appreciate a finer production. That’s all. No need to get your panties in a twist over it.”

  I winced. Jesus, I’d even known it was coming, but Tyler’s brass balls were still a little too huge to be believed.

  “My panties are just fine,” Gwen said, and the table got suddenly very quiet. “And I disagree with you.”

  Tyler sighed, pressing his hands against his forehead. “And I guess we’re pretending for a moment that I care.”

  “Well, I do care.” Gwen raised her chin. “I care about this whole show and how it turns out. You may be here just for a paycheck, but how our show comes across to viewers means a lot to me. For your information, soap operas portray the pains and pleasures of life in a way that all viewers can understand. The actors have to be relatable, because they endure the same problems we all do.”

  “The same problems?” Ty echoed. “As in breaking nails, misplacing your boyfriend, and sleeping with a jet-setting brother you never knew about? How is that relatable? That’s so completely opposite of the target audience’s real problems. Soaps are all about rich people.”

  “Tequila shots.” Erica threw up her arms and opened them, as though she’d just scored the Super Bowl’s winning touchdown.

  “Not true,” Gwen said, deceptively calm. “The characters might be rich, but their problems involve love, loss, and betrayal, all the things normal people experience every day of their lives.”

  I’d been sitting back listening to Gwen and Tyler debate. I really liked watching her. Listening to her. What could easily be mistaken as bitchiness was actually a feisty nature and a refusal to back down from something she believed in. I mean, come on, she’d started her career in soap operas. Of course it was a given she’d eventually confront Tyler about what he’d said. But the minute the words “love” and “normal people” escaped her mouth, I immediately stiffened and sat forward.

  I don’t know why. It shouldn’t have mattered one way or another whether she believed in love or not. Maybe it was because I was thinking of her far too much. That I woke up in the morning excited to see her, and went to sleep the same way. Maybe it was because I wanted her in my bed, but I didn’t want her there if there was a remote possibility she was going to see our fucking as anything more than it was. Whatever the reason, I suddenly felt compelled to dispel her of the notion that love was a global concern.

  “You know, Gwen,” I said. “Love isn’t a serious problem for everyone. Some people prefer life without it.”

  Gwen looked startled and eyed me cautiously. There was a soft curiosity in her face. “Are you speaking from experience?”

  Anger flooded through me that had nothing to do with Gwen and everything to do with Rachel and the pain and betrayal I’d experienced years before. “You bet your ass I am.”

  “I think with love, preference is irrelevant. Love is a human emotion, a chemical reaction—an all-powerful compulsion—not something you can turn off and on at will,” Gwen said softly.

  “Love is a choice,” Erica said, surprising me. And by the looks on their faces, surprising everyone else at the table, as well. She didn’t appear to be addressing anyone specific, more like reflecting on her own pain we would never know about. “Garrick can choose not to want it.”

  Eyes wide, Gwen looked around the table. “Is that what you all believe?”

  Shane and Tyler remained quiet. Watchful.

  Gwen shook her head. “Because no one who thinks that can understand the core of a soap opera, which is targeted toward people who thrive on passion and love. The whole point is that no matter what horrible struggles or obstacles life throws at us, we can overcome them because of the love and support we receive through our relationships with others. And those relationships are never easy to maintain. They’re never perfect. But they’re worth it.”

  What she was saying was too good to be true and I felt it was my duty to call bullshit. To stop her from spouting it to anyone else. Blind belief in love only resulted in disappointment and grief.

  I held my ground. “What are you going to tell us next? That you believe in fairytales? Or was you mentioning Disney the first day we met indicative of the movies you truly watch?”

  To her, love was the key to overcoming any obstacle? She had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. No idea.

  She looked stunned then tilted her chin defiantly. “How can I expect you to understand? All your career has been about are explosions, gunfire, and ass shots.”

  “Wow,” I growled, uneasily aware that the progress we’d made in the past week was disintegrating, and all because I was being an asshole. But for some reason, I couldn’t stop myself. It was like I was watching one of my films, unable to stop myself from making a colossal mistake. “You really boiled action movies down to three important components there. Sounds like you’ve indulged in a few yourself. Guilty pleasure?”

  She folded her pretty arms over her chest. “Love exists, Garrick, whether you believe in it or not.”

  “Love is a flare,” I fired back. “It ignites,
burns for a while, then dies.”

  “My parents have been married for thirty years, and they’re still going strong,” Gwen said. “That must be a pretty damned big flare.”

  I smiled briefly, but even I had to admit it felt mean. “I’m sure something a little more substantial is holding them together, especially if your dad is the prime breadwinner in your family. If your mom’s hot, then maybe sex is a factor, too. But it’s not love, princess.”

  Hurt flashed across her face, and it was like I’d suddenly been jerked back on a chain. What the fuck was I doing? Even if what I’d said was true about her parents, she had the right to believe in them and in love. Who was I to rain on her parade?

  “You take that back,” she snapped.

  But I wouldn’t. And I couldn’t stop, for some reason. “It’s true. Many marriages are for convenience, not love. The sooner you wake up to that fact, the more prepared for life you’ll be.”

  “Guys…” Erica groaned.

  “What would you know about love, Hollywood playboy who dates a new girl every two weeks?” Gwen said.

  “Two weeks?” I guffawed. “Damn, girl. You could solve world hunger with the amount of faith you put in my ability to keep a relationship. Try three days.”

  “Yes, that’s only too clear. As you told me, the tabloids never lie, right?”

  “For someone completely uninterested in yours truly, you sure seem to know a lot about me. Let me guess. You looked me up after we talked that day. And now you have it in your head that I’m some scummy player who slept his way up the Hollywood popularity ladder?” I asked.

  “I’m right, aren’t I? Isn’t that what you just admitted?”

  I wasn’t going to let her win this. “How many pictures did you scroll through before you had me pinned? Five? Twenty? Because I guarantee by the fiery shade of cherry in those freckle-dusted cheeks, you wish you were lucky enough to be in every single one of them.”