One Take Only

by Lynsey M. Stewart

  I didn’t just find a chopstick that morning. I found loneliness and despair, an ache I knew would never shift and a need to shut down the web of thoughts that contracted from driving to Brighton and telling Skye I loved her – had done from the first insult – to wondering if scientists had invented a way of cleansing my brain, wiping it clean, re-setting the factory settings so to speak, and making it devoid of emotion.

  I also found a text message from Margot, telling me the studio had unexpectedly become free at the weekend. She asked me to let Skye know, and I asked her to make contact herself. Skye called not long after. Letting it go to voicemail, I listened to her message immediately.

  “We’ve got the studio on Saturday night. Margot just called. She’s had a cancellation. I was just calling to…erm…well, to ask if you still wanted to be part of this. Let me know…OK. Talk soon.”

  My head was telling me to call her. I didn’t think I could cope with another round of let’s–forget–what–happened–between–us and every atom in my body was telling me to end this shit, before it ended me. But this time, the stakes were high, higher than ever. Before, she always lifted me up, but I was beginning to wonder if we were just getting too fucking heavy.

  My head couldn’t compute. The ability to think had vanished along with my sensibility. I decided on a shower and a couple of rounds of coffee before I could even attempt a conversation with her. Words rounded my brain. Jumbled and annoying.

  Oh, hi. Yeah, porn shoot on Saturday. Sounds great! See you then.

  Porn is my jam. I’ll be there with knobs on. Erect knobs.

  Porn first, discussion about my intimate and complicated feelings for you after?

  Why did she have the ability to cloud yet clarify everything all at once?

  I laid back on my bed, still perfectly made from the day before, and ignored my monster boner that had emerged in the shower. I was only going through the night before, trying to make sense of her words, of mine, scalding myself for misreading the simmering sexual tension over the years before scalding myself for questioning it in the first place and there it was, rising to attention, screaming when the bloody hell do I get to have her too! Dry humping isn’t cutting it!

  Pushing the wet hair off my forehead, a realisation prickled across my scalp. We were no longer in a place where flirty comments and waking up cradling each other on the sofa could be brushed off or discarded as something else, something tame and innocent. Friendship goals and jokey banter. Last night, we were gasps and heat, simmer and boiling point. Body parts brushing with intention, not as mishaps. We were a connection of limbs and hands, mouth and tongue. Our first kiss, five years in the making, was everything I wanted it to be. Passionate and messy, her ass in my hands and an erection so hard and stiff I think I may have pulled a tendon.

  I stared at my phone. What the fuck do I say? My first line of communication since I felt how wet she was through her trousers. How did I know that? The wet patch on mine.

  Jesus, fuck.

  Got your message.

  No, delete.

  How are you?

  Highly original. Delete.

  Can we start off by talking about last night? Do you know how long I wanted to kiss you? Feel you against me, hear your gasps and moans? Fuck you? Forever, Skye.

  Too much? Fuck, I don’t know. If Stace hadn’t found us, I was a fingertip away from her sinking into her.

  Delete.

  Saturday is fine.

  Can we talk?

  I think we need to talk.

  Three dots appeared and disappeared. I almost had time to get dressed, make a coffee and tidy the flat before she finally replied.

  Got a lot on this week. Maybe after the shoot?

  Are you kidding me, Skye?

  17

  Skye

  “Good evening,” Margot said. I stepped back, shocked to find her opening the door.

  “Hi,” I stuttered, unsure why she was smiling when I’d been told she’d ask security to let me in, leading me to assume she’d found out about Will and me clothes fucking against a wall.

  “I thought you’d like some help,” she said, pushing her hands into her back pockets. Suddenly, seeing her pigeon toed and shy made me question my original thoughts. “I’m happy to be around…if that’s what you want?”

  “Really?” I almost kissed her, but the Will situation held me back. “I’d appreciate that.”

  “Come in,” she said, waiting for me to start climbing the stairs. “Skye, can I say something before we start?”

  “Sure.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Will, but I’ve come to the conclusion that I would just be standing in the way of whatever it is.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I liked him, but I couldn’t get anywhere near.” She smiled as she looked to the floor. “He only has eyes for you.”

  “It’s complicated.” I huffed.

  She laughed. “Funnily enough, that’s exactly what he said.”

  “He did?”

  “Skye, we had two dates. Well, one and a half really,” she replied. “He brought me home and we talked about you.”

  I nodded, unable to speak, because if I started talking about this, about him, I’d never stop, and I had the small matter of filming my first porn film to deal with before anything else. “There’s a lot of history and I’m terrified of fucking it up, but I can’t even think about that, now. I need to put that away and focus on…camera angles.”

  She laughed. “I thought I could offer some direction. There’s also a camera guy who owed me a favour. He’s here to help Will.”

  I covered my face with my hands, and she leant in, wrapping me in a hug. “I cannot tell you how thankful I am.”

  “We female porn directors have to support each other,” she replied. “I’ve got your back.”

  “Jesus, that’s a far stretch.” I laughed. “I’ve been so worried about this I haven’t slept all week.”

  “Come on, gorgeous,” she said, her arm draped over my shoulders. “Let’s get started.”

  I spent the first thirty minutes thanking Margot and feeling pretty amazing that I had some professional support. It was important to me that the film looked good, didn’t appear amateur or homemade and would stand the test of time to be used as an educational tool in the clinic. I went through the storyboard with her and accepted some suggestions of how we could expand the story and turn up the volume on the messages I wanted to put across. The scene was simple. The story was about a couple who were about to have their first sexual experience together. The set would be a bedroom, with bed and bedside table to contain lube and condoms that would be used during the scene. Margot suggested we use images of a well-stocked drawer to show the importance of safe sex, particularly with James’ HIV diagnoses. I wanted the dialogue to show the sex was consensual, with a constant narrative checking they were both OK, enjoying what they were doing and could give each other direction of what they liked or didn’t. I wanted to show that communication was a healthy part of a sexual relationship and that both people should be completely comfortable without being coerced into something they didn’t want to do.

  “Right, the lighting is beautiful. We’ve got a lovely airy space.” Margot rubbed her hands together. “They’ve done such a great job considering we’ve given them–” she looked at her watch, “–twenty minutes.” I walked over to the set, which I had to admit was impressive. They’d found items from a previous shoot that they mixed together. A window in the background with light drapes. Neutral bedding to keep the feeling of light. “Everything as you want it?” Margot asked behind me.

  “Yeah, it’s great. Just what I pictured.”

  “We’ve got two cameras. One, Joe will work and can be static and the other, which is smaller and moveable can be used by Will.”

  “Do you use that to get close up shots?” I asked.

  “Yeah, we’d have someone right in on the scene, underneath them, essentially, t
o get the close ups.” She crouched down to the camera, looking in the viewfinder and making some adjustments. “Do we know where Will is?” she asked, still focusing on the camera. I hadn’t seen him all week, just exchanging text messages, checking in with each other. I gave him the times and other details for tonight but hadn’t received a reply.

  “I’m not entirely sure he’s going to…” The door buzzer blared through the loft space, making me jump.

  Margot smiled. “This is probably him.”

  My stomach did this weird, flip-flop motion. It always dipped or fluttered, sometimes just at the mention of his name or his folded glasses on the coffee table in the flat, telling me he was around, close and real. This flip-flop was bigger. Tremendous and bold. I stood just to feel like I was in control of it, my hand holding it tight to give me a sense of grounding.

  It had been a week. A full week without seeing him. We’d gone that long before. He had a reckless stage where his level head had become not so level and he decided to go travelling with a backpack, no real plans, and a twenty-pound note in his pocket. He went to Ibiza and partied for two weeks, returning sunburnt and trying to pass off his holiday as a life changing experience.

  But that two-week gap hadn’t started with us wrestling tongues.

  “Hey,” he said, bursting into the space and waving to me. “Look who I found on the way.”

  Reid and his partner, James, followed behind him, both greeting Margot with a hug when she refused the formality of a handshake. I’d met James a couple of times, wanting to meet him after Reid had suggested they film the scene together. We’d talked about his diagnosis of HIV, how he believed it was passed on by a previous partner who had since passed away from an AIDS-related illness. He didn’t contact James directly to suggest he have a test and he had messy feelings about that, wishing that his ex-partner had considered his health, rather than be consumed by his feelings of guilt. James was in good health, explaining that medication will prolong his life and joking that he’ll probably die through other means such as a safety rope failing when chasing his passion for rock climbing, or a quad bike falling on him in a freak accident.

  James and Reid understood my passion for this project during a late-night heart-to-heart at Turnip the Beet. Over wine and cake, James spoke about his HIV diagnosis and I talked about Elliott. We all agreed that the dialogue would include a conversation about health and trying to take the stigma out of taking a test, which should be part of self-care and sexual health as much as a smear test or routine gynaecological appointment. James was more than happy to say on camera that he had HIV and that Reid was aware before they started the scene. We all felt this was another positive message, that sex could be enjoyed as safely as possible.

  “How are you?” James asked, kissing me twice as Reid followed.

  “Nervous.” I smiled as I noticed Will and Margot having a conversation behind them. Will pulled her in for a hug but quickly moved away, taking off his jacket and busying himself with his phone.

  “The set looks great,” Reid said. “Neutral, no gimmicks. Perfect.”

  “Just the messages we want to convey,” I replied. “That’s the most important thing.”

  “Can we start getting ready?” James asked. He was a very attractive older man. Reid was in his early twenties and James had just celebrated his fortieth birthday. He rocked the silver fox look; both his hair and beard were heavily flecked. His bright eyes and wide smile were easy to find irresistible.

  “Yes, just through there. You’ll find everything you need.”

  “Skye, can I just show you the monitors?” Wes said, Margot’s camera guy. He took me over to a video screen, there were a few dotted around and when he turned it on, they all came alive. “When I point the camera and we start filming, the monitors will show you what I’m seeing in the view finder. It’s great for you to focus on when you’re directing. It allows you to see the film as the audience would.” He pulled up a chair and directed me to sit down. As Wes picked up the camera, I could immediately see the bed on the monitor. “There you go. You can see what we’re picking up on there.”

  “That’s perfect,” I said, “thanks.”

  I enjoyed the lull for a moment. Everyone was busy, some checking equipment, others getting a drink and settling down on chairs, sofas or sitting on the floor with their legs crossed. Margot had a couple of assistants who were asking her about future projects. I left them to it and started collecting myself, taking my notepad and phone out of my bag and placing it on the table beside me.

  The scale of what I was about to do could have overwhelmed me, but Margot had cured that. Her presence added to my confidence and another feeling I couldn’t explain but could only identify as a drive within me, fuelled by my grief, or the love for my brother that was my cushion even when times were rough. I’d lost Elliott, but I’d never lose my love for him.

  “How are you feeling?” A whoosh of someone sat down beside me, on the floor and at my feet. I immediately felt the tightening in my core, stomach and…other places. I allowed myself to glance at his face, the lines of his jaw, the dimples, crinkles and lines I knew like my own. I took a deep breath and smiled, couldn’t help it.

  “Good,” I replied, meeting his eyes. “This feels good.”

  He didn’t reply. Dropped his head instead. So unsure of what to say next and I understood that, I so did. I’d thought about this moment since he’d left me, breathless and wanting against the wall. Wanting more. Wanting everything I’d thought about since we met, even though it terrified me. I wondered what my opening line would be, Hey, you. Hi. How have you been? all seemed so small for the moment we’d shared. Because we hadn’t just shared it. We devoured it.

  “It’s nice of Margot to be here,” he said, and I didn’t like her name on his lips. Crazy, I know. Maybe that was what years of unrequested love did to you?

  “Hmm, mmm.”

  He adjusted his glasses whenever he was nervous. I waited. He adjusted. “I just wanted to let you know that the other night, Margot and I, we didn’t…”

  “Yeah, she said,” I replied, shutting the conversation down. I nibbled on the end of my pen and felt that familiar push and pull that defined our relationship. The weight of feeling turned on yet frightened, loved but scared. “Is that all, William, because I’ve got shit to do.”

  He looked shocked for a pinch of time but covered it well, pulling in his mouth and nodding. “Yeah…because I too…have shit to do. Probably not as much shit as you but still plenty of shit. Mounds of it, in fact.”

  “You’re funny.”

  “This is how it’s going to be?” he asked, a lopsided smile appearing. “You’ve roped me in to filming a porn film for you and this is how you treat me?”

  “Thank you,” I said softly, draping my arm around his shoulder. “For being here and–” Take a deep breath. Face it head on. Get it over with. “–for…what you were prepared to do. We probably wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for you.”

  “I don’t think that’s true.”

  “It meant a lot,” I said. “After everything that happened that night.”

  “Yeah. About that,” he said, his leg moving closer, his head to my knee. I almost threaded my fingers through his hair. “I think we should talk, maybe not now but–”

  “Not now.”

  “Later, then,” he replied, his face dropping. “There’s a lot I think we need to say.”

  “What do we need to say?” I whispered and the fluttering that came whenever he was near deepened, passing through my body quickly but buried in and vast. “What do you need to say?”

  “Everything.” I placed my hand on the side of his face. “I need you,” he rasped, the words holding a thousand meanings.

  I squeezed my eyes tight and bit my lip, suppressing the sob I was holding back. Years of accumulated emotion threatening to pour out. “I need you too,” I whispered, taking in his face.

  “Can we just have ten minutes together before th
is starts?” I shook my head against his. “Five, then. It’s just…Christ, I’ve…been unable to think about anything else but–”

  “What?”

  “Skye–”

  “Tell me,” I whispered.

  “I want to know what you taste like.”

  The moan I’d poured out against his ear shocked us both and just as he was about to speak again, a voice hauled us apart.

  “Skye.” My stomach sank as I looked up to find Margot. Not now. Give us time to do this. “Reid and James are ready. We shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

  “Of course.” I held my chest, pushing my hand against my heart to try to stop the thud.

  Picking up my notebook, I stopped to glance at Will, silently cursing that I didn’t have time to undress him and wishing we weren’t engaging in foreplay on the set of a porn film.

  “Later.”

  He smiled and I let out a shaky breath, pulling my shoulders back as I tried to gather myself.

  “If I make it through this alive.”

  “Breathe. You can do this,” he said, taking my hand. “I’m right here. Just find me when you need to.”

  The magnitude of the moment returned, hanging in the air and almost giving me the urge to part it with outstretched arms and splayed fingers. Anxiety came in many forms and I tried to hide all aspects of mine. Will was able to see through the smokescreen and he was saving me again, just his presence and the right words brought my head back into the room.

  “Wes will help you with the camera,” I said. “He knows what I want, and he’ll show you were to position yourself.” He nodded, standing up as he shook Wes’s hand. “Everything’s the same as what we’ve already talked about. I just need the camera angles close up.”

  “Got it.” He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, lifting his khaki jumper and blue t-shirt with his arms. The strip of skin between his belted jeans and his tops was tanned, a hint of happy trail made me…happy. His legs, long and lean, were defined by dark jeans, tan boots, and a stance that oozed ultimate sex appeal that made me forget where I was. Almost.