Catch A Falling Superstar: A New Adult Erotic Romance

by Steen, J. Emily

  I could have saved myself the effort. It was not Archer.

  It was an older man, wearing mom jeans and a military shirt with a wool hat. He looked clean enough, but his cheeks were hollow and his face unshaved. He looked like a hobo, more or less. I groaned inwardly. I had no time for this!

  “Can I help you?” I said, inserting a dismissive tone.

  “Ah, hey, miss,” he said in a flat, creaky voice, his eyes darting all over the place. “Ah been lookin' for Blue. She around?”

  “I'm sorry, looking for who?”

  “Yeah, I was told to go look for – uh – Blue. Suppos' ta live here in dis here house.”

  He had a little tremble going on in one hand. He didn't seem dangerous, just insecure. But Blue – that was Archer's name for me. What was going on here?

  “Who told you to look for Blue?” I asked suspiciously.

  “Why, God told me. He said, “go look for that Blue girl at 1010 Amlin Street.” You her, miss?”

  “God told you? I think there must be some misunderstanding...”

  The man straightened and smirked with straight, white teeth.

  “Okay, Blue, I think this will work just fine,” he said in a familiar voice.

  “Archer?”

  “Sure. Didn't come up with a name for this character yet. Pretty convincing, huh? One of the perks of having a whole makeup department at your disposal. They loved the idea of making me sort of unrecognizable. Great fun for all. Except for you. Well, suck it up.”

  He winked, which seemed to be in character. Then he took a step closer and put his hand on the door frame and looked me over.

  “Turn around.”

  I did a quick 180 for him, then back again. He had a tone there that was a command, and it made me want to obey.

  “You look very nice. You did before too, of course. But most people would wear jeans better than a LuckyStop uniform. You absolutely do. So, where we going?”

  I had been trying to think of something, but it wasn't easy. What do superstars like?

  “What interests you? Not that much to see here. There's the fort, the many art galleries, the old buildings... Nothing big ever happened here, as far as I know. It's the dullest town in the state, probably. You being in town now will probably make headlines for months after.”

  “Suits me fine. Let's do something fun instead. Like, fourth grade fun. I know just the thing.”

  Somehow, now I knew it was him, I could see straight through the disguise and makeup. They had done a very good job with him. If you didn't know it was him, it would never cross your mind. Except...

  “You should probably do the voice when we're around people,” I suggested. “Your own is pretty distinct.”

  I locked the door behind me and put the key in my pocket. No way was I going to carry a purse for this.

  “Any transportation?” I ventured.

  He just pointed.

  “Ah. Nice,” I said.

  It was big and dark green, with some little matte and satiny details. It had no shiny chrome parts, and even the twin exhaust pipes were a dull black. It looked low and menacing, focused and dangerous. The rear wheel looked wide and slick. On the tank was the words Harley Davidson in discreet, gray letters. It was the manliest motorcycle I'd ever seen. No showing off here. This was for someone who knew what he was doing.

  It gave off metallic ticking noises as the metal cooled, as if it had just been driven long and hard. Strange, I thought, it's not that far to the sound stage that it should get that hot. How fast had he been driving to get here?

  “You been on one of these?” he asked, casually.

  “Not really,” I said.

  It was true. My mother was always scared of motorbikes, and she made sure it rubbed off on me.

  “Okay,” he said. “Just hold on to me. We'll take it easy. Hop on.”

  He handed me a helmet that had been hanging on the handlebars. He had another one for himself, just as dull and black as the bike.

  He helped me put mine on, and suddenly my head felt twice as heavy as before. He pulled off the wool hat to reveal his own dark blond mop, then easily swung one leg over the motorcycle, straightened it up and started the engine with a key.

  I had expected the familiar, loud and slow “bop-bop-bop” noise from the engine, but this one had a faster rhythm, smoother and more energetic. It sounded powerful.

  Archer looked at me and gestured with his head. I got it and gingerly got on behind him. There was nothing to hold on to, except his broad back. I gently put my arms around him at waist level. He felt hard and stable.

  “Scoot closer to me”, he said over the loud engine noise, his voice muffled by the helmet over my ears.

  I did, pressing my whole front to his hard upper body. I could feel the heat from the motorcycle close to my legs, but the heat from his back seemed even stronger, closer and more welcoming.

  He got the bike in gear and started rolling forwards. We got into the street, and he accelerated.

  It was very different from being in a car or a pedal bike. Even if I could feel that he really was taking it easy because of me, we added speed very fast. At least it felt like it. The engine got louder, and we were rolling along with the sparse traffic on Main Street.

  He drove calmly through my home town, and it was almost like I was seeing it for the first time. How would it look to him? I had never felt much pride about the place I grew up, because it seemed to be so random. Walco was just the place my parents happened to have been working. But now I saw the cracked pavement, the worn asphalt with potholes that Archer had to steer around, the empty storefronts, the buildings in need of repair, the trash bags heaped up here and there, the dirty alleys. It didn't use to look like that, did it?

  Then we were out of town, going in the direction of the neighboring town called Carvey. He opened up the gas more. It was not a noisy bike like the one you hear banging past outside your bedroom window late at night, and I was glad it wasn't. This was different. This was a successful man, and he had no desire to make his bike scream “look at me!”. This one preferred to let people sleep in peace at night, he was not the defeated coward who would drive through residential areas at 4 am in a passive-aggressive attempt to finally be noticed in his middle age, to finally be heard by someone, anyone.

  It was still sinister, in a way. The sound had a barely tamed power, and I could sense the potential of this motorcycle as Archer effortlessly let it surge past slower moving traffic on the way to Carvey.

  So perfect for him, I thought. Immense power, but effortless and laid back, without the compulsive need to always use it.

  The road became winding as it passed through the woods, and we leaned into some of the sharper turns. We were still going at modest speed, but I could feel from the way he was driving that it was unnatural to him. He'd prefer to go faster. Maybe even much faster. But he had me with him, and he wouldn't. Not this time. I was grateful for that.

  10

  We reached the mall outside Carvey. It was not the largest in the state, just big enough to have most of the things a mall should have.

  The bowling alley was on the second floor in its own section of the mall, next to a pizza place. It had two entrances, one from the mall and one from the outside, which is where we parked the bike.

  Some of the lanes were in use, mostly by kids and adolescents who were out of school for the day and had some time to kill.

  Archer put his wool hat back on and went into character to deal with the girl behind the counter. He affected a different walk, too, not the upright, springy tiger's gait that was his own, but the hesitant, slight limp of a man in his fifties who has had a rough life. Seeing him from behind, no one would ever guess who he was. Or so I hoped.

  No, I'll be honest here. I half hoped someone would. Because it sort of felt like I wanted witnesses, someone who could confirm that I had indeed spent a day with Archer Stratton, bowling at the old mall in Carvey. Or not even confirm - just see it. I felt as if
it would make it more real, in a way. If I was the only one who knew... that was cool, too. But if others knew, without there being a huge crowd...

  Yes, I'm weird. I know.

  Anyway, the girl didn't notice. She was just ordinarily polite and gave us our shoes, not giving Archer a second look in his disguise. I didn't blame her, because that voice if his was far from his own sexy baritone.

  Archer manned the console and made the big scoreboard display BlueEyes for me and Marvin for him.

  “Who's Marvin?” I asked.

  “I think that's a good name for this character. He's okay. Just a little downtrodden right now. But he will feel better after he completely obliterates you at bowling,” Archer said brightly, trying to provoke a reaction.

  “Will he, now,” I said.

  I'm actually pretty good at bowling, because my father would take me along to the alley with his recreational league team for years. He taught me some crucial points, like how to hold the ball, where to aim, what to look at when you release it and how to give it just the right amount of spin. And speed, of course.

  “Well, I hope he's practiced, because I'm not going to give anything away.”

  “I wouldn't want ya to, hun,” he said, creaking like an old prospector and making it seem like he was 70 years old.

  I went first. I had found a ball that I knew would be about the right weight for me, although the finger holes were a little too loose.

  I inspected our lane. The wood was a little worn in the middle, where most people aim, but looked better towards the sides. That was fine with me. The seven little arrows set into the wood were easy to spot and aim with. Okay, I was ready.

  I gaged the distance to the release point, took the three steps and aimed for the arrow at the extreme right. At the point of release, I let my wrist do its natural rotation without making it too stiff. The direction was pretty good, I thought, but probably too fast to hit a strike. And it didn't spin quite enough to hit the front pin first.

  Sure enough, it was a split of the worst kind – the 7-10 split. The two pins at the left and right at the back were still standing. It's not impossible to get both on the second attempt, but I'd never seen it done. They are just too far apart for the ball to hit both – you'd probably have to hit one and then have it bounce or roll toward the other one or bounce off the sideboard or something. I didn't try that, but I did hit the 10 pin, and only the 7 was still standing. It gave me nine points. Could have been worse. It was an okay frame for my first time in probably four years.

  Archer had found a big, black ball and hefted it in his hands.

  “Pretty heavy,” he said in Marvin's voice. “Gonna get me aaaall them there shiny white thangs.”

  He took three waddling, short steps and released the ball, which went straight into the gutter and rolled harmlessly away while he looked forlornly at it. His movements were so studiously weird that I couldn't help giggling. He was really going to put on an act for me.

  The second one was better, in the sense that it stayed in the lane. But it was slow, and as it wobbled its way down to the pins, Archer/Marvin gave a satisfied grunt and put his hands to his sides.

  “Yeeup, that there be one miiighty fine one. Miiiiiighty fine.”

  It veered a little to the side at the end, and just barely hit the 7 pin, which slowly fell.

  “Yeeeup, that's one perfect one riiiight there,” he creaked and peered at me in triumph.

  I was bent double with laughter.

  He got his one point.

  I got my first strike on the second frame, because I got everything right. The aim, the release, the follow-through and the speed. I remembered to aim for the left arrow and to keep my eyes on it when I released the ball. I let my wrist turn naturally, without forcing it, and it felt good. Strike, seven points and then another strike! That was a second frame I'd be happy with even in the old days, when I'd play once a week.

  Archer kept up his act for his next frame, but was able to get better speed on the ball. After both his attempts, he had gotten five pins to fall. Five points, and he was very happy.

  “Yeuuup, I'd laahk tah see ya do that after me, little missy,” he bleated in his unplaceable fake accent. It was very charming.

  It was a lot of fun! I got reacquainted with the bowling alley, and Marvin got to learn bowling. Archer did such a convincing character that I found myself taken in by the illusion, and I started to think of him as Marvin the older and delusional man.

  I had a lot of fun bowling with a superstar. But it couldn't last.

  11

  As we played our third game, a couple of more lanes were being used, mostly by kids. Then I heard a voice I thought I knew.

  I turned, and saw two couples coming into the bowling alley. One was a couple I vaguely remembered from high school, and the other was someone I most definitely did remember: Samantha Morris and her former quarterback boyfriend, Martin Delacruz. Well, for all I knew he may still be a quarterback, but I just remembered him from the high school team. And I did remember Samantha.

  Do you have someone from your high school you'd prefer never to see again? Well, that was Samantha for me. I was never one of the popular kids, but she was. Rich and beautiful and haughty, with that exquisite sense of who it was safe to be sarcastic to. We were on opposite sides of the spectrum, she and I, and her side was all pink and happy and sunny and wealthy. Mine was less so, and she made sure that I knew it. She had a cruel streak, I guess.

  She was my age, but thankfully we rarely had classes together. I usually made sure to avoid her, but that was not always possible. And now she had spotted me and was taking her whole group in my direction.

  I turned my back, hoping they'd pass us by. I didn't need this day ruined by her or anyone.

  “Hey, Davis,” she said.

  Yeah, she was one of those people who use last names, as if learning the first name is just beneath her.

  I turned slowly.

  “Hi, Samantha.”

  “Why'd you turn your back? You saw me coming. Still a shy little mouse?” she said with a light little laugh. She had the gift of being able to say something in a way that could be interpreted as both mean and friendly, it was hard to tell. I knew, of course.

  “How are you, Sam?”

  She ignored my question and looked up at the scoreboard.

  “BlueEyes. Is that supposed to be you? Ha ha, so vain! It's almost cute. They're sort of a watery blue, I guess. Dirty blue. Did you meet Penny and Mac?”

  She gestured towards the other couple. They were drawing away to get started on the bowling game, but were still within earshot.

  “Not really.”

  She looked me straight in the eye.

  “Not really? Don't you remember?” Her voice was as clear as a silver bell.

  “No, I do remember them from school, but I don't know them.”

  “No, I guess not,” she said. “You always liked to be on your own. You and... what was her name, the fat one? Roseanne?”

  So weird. She had me figured as a loner, but I really wasn't one. I just chose my friends with some care. And sure, my friend Rosemary had been overweight the first year of high school, but she also had the warmest heart and the sharpest brain of anyone in school. We'd had a lot of fun together, like friends do.

  I could have shot back to deflate Samantha, but I just wanted her gone.

  She shifted her attention to Archer in his Marvin disguise. He was setting up for a new shot in our lane.

  “So out bowling with your dad? At four in the afternoon? No job to go to for any of you?”

  “Uh, this is... uh...”

  I didn't know how far to go. I wouldn't want to blow Archer's cover on account of this unpleasant person from my past. I didn't want him to get involved at all. Now he would be. And I worried about how he would take it. I hoped he would not be one of those people who has to be friends with everybody and will clown around to please even the most unworthy person. I had known too many of those.r />
  Archer finished his shot, scoring a nice spare, and turned to us, still in his Marvin character.

  “Who're these people, Ashley girl? Friends of yours?” he creaked, looking more than ever like a man in his late seventies.

  “Hi! No, we're just passing by. Are you her boyfriend?” Samantha said brightly in that tone which was evil, but impossible to refute.

  “Oh no, miss Ashley is out of mah league, as we said in the old days. How about you, there now? Gonna do some bowling right about now?”

  “So you're just good friends?” Sam continued, ignoring Marvin's question.

  “Oh yeah, you bet,” Marvin creaked. “Now, you better go and get your shoes there, by the counter. I'm feeling good about this here frame, yeeuuup.”

  She ignored him and concentrated on me, having learned that the man was no threat to her.

  “Yeah, you always liked bowling, didn't you, Davis? I remember once,” she turned to address her friend, who was still hanging around, “she came to school wearing the full outfit, a bowling shirt and bowling shoes and, like, slacks, like a retired person on the way to a bowling league match. So weird!”

  It was true. Well, the shirt, not the shoes or the slacks. I had done that after my dad's league had won the regional championship. I had been proud of him, and had I wanted to show him that. Because he usually didn't give me a lot to be proud of.

  Well, now Archer knew how uncool I was. And I'd had enough. I prepared to fire back

  But abruptly, Samantha turned her back to us, and she and her friend walked away to join their boyfriends a couple of lanes over. I decided not to shout something mean at her back. Also, nothing occurred to me right then and there.

  Archer and I finished our frames, and he must have noticed that I was a little subdued. We only had a couple of frames left each, and he got a couple of strikes, drawing even with me.

  We were done, and I was in no mood for more bowling. Archer must have picked up on it.

  “Let's leave,” he said. “But excuse me a moment first.” He walked off in the direction of the bathrooms.