Getting Real

by Ainslie Paton

  His body felt overheated, his palms sweaty. There was an ache in the back of his jaw from clenching his teeth to stop from simply marching across the set, stripping the stupid bandages off her, and taking her then and there in front of everyone. If he didn’t get to her first, she was going to do him in, make an internal organ explode. He had visions of her standing over him half-naked and laughing as he bled out. There was no God and she was Satan.

  When Jake sat behind the main camera, Rielle laughed. She owned him now. He was a goner. If he’d sat almost anywhere else it would have been harder. She’d have had to ignore him to watch the camera’s red light instead. Maybe he’d done it without thinking; maybe he’d done it on purpose. But it gave her all she needed to make sure he was aware of what he was missing out on. He couldn’t have all of her but he could have this and this was at least seventy percent pure Rielle Mainline. She was the performance and she was going to make him love her on her terms.

  The way he was looking at her now though, like he might be capable of eating her uncooked with a spoon, was a little distracting. She’d had to ask Martin twice about the next part of the shoot and Rand, who’d figured out what was going on, was shaking his head at her.

  “It’s like watching a dog gnaw on a bone, Rie. You’re not giving him room to breathe. You’re going to turn him inside out if you keep this up.”

  “Well, he asked for it.”

  “Just don’t break him. I like him and we need him.”

  Martin said, “When you’re ready, guys.” They took their places to run the sequence again.

  While the camera operator was making an equipment adjustment, Rielle saw Harry clue Jake in. Hah, no! He dropped his head in his hands, but then took himself out of her sightline. She spun around to follow him, turning sideways to the camera, only to have Martin say, “Rielle, something wrong?”

  She said, “No, Martin.” Except she could no longer see the object of her prey. “Everything is wonderful.”

  So wonderful she mucked up that take. She went left instead of right and smacked into Stu. Stu went, “Whoa!”

  She said, “Argh. Sorry.”

  Martin said, “Take it again.”

  She looked over her shoulder to see Jake laughing at her. He was leaning his back against a rough brick wall, one booted foot crossed over the other, his arms folded. He was so casual, so unaffected, so utterly unaware of what his nice boy-next-door shtick did to her. Made her want to get him good and dirty, sweaty and messy. But he wasn’t that wily, he’d needed Harry to tell him which way was up. Harry who was sitting there, looking smug, enjoying every minute of this.

  The band repositioned themselves for another take and this time Rielle turned the right way. But the movement brought her around to face Jake for a split second, and when she caught the look on his face—smug, arrogantly teasing—she stumbled.

  “Shit! Sorry!”

  “Don’t worry, go again,” called Martin.

  They re-grouped, and crossing past her to take his place, Rand smirked. “Something got you rattled?” She flicked his nose making him flinch but his laugher was loud and infectious, some of the crew catching and echoing it.

  On the third attempt, she turned the correct way, completed the movement without stumbling and then promptly sang the wrong words. The set exploded into laughter. “Aw, fuck!” she yelled, stamping her feet. She swung around to Jake and glared at him, hands thrust on her hips. She tried to look annoyed but he was on to her game now and had her in check, making her unaccountably nervous with his cool, detached appraisal.

  Martin said, “Is something distracting you?”

  “Yeah. He is. I was fine when he was sitting over there,” she pointed to the abandoned milk crate, “but now that he’s there,” she pointed directly at Jake and pouted, “he’s putting me off.”

  “You go back to where she wants you right now,” Martin said, waving a hand at Jake as though shooing an annoying insect.

  The band and the crew shuffled about while Jake, head down, went back to his milk crate seat beside Harry.

  Crossing past Rielle to take his place again, Rand elbowed her. “You break him, you pay.”

  She said, “What if he breaks me?”

  Rand said, “I’d pay,” and earned himself a stinging smack on the arm.

  Now Rielle was back in control. She had Jake where she wanted him again and she was determined to make him squirm. She blocked out the screams of the fans barricaded at the end of the alley and the traffic noises behind them. She closed off her vision of crew moving around and band members beside her. She narrowed her focus to seducing him. She looked past the camera and into Jake. This man she’d once come close to despising for being weak and out of control, who’d stood up to her, shown his strength and capability—his inner Godzilla—so many times. Who didn’t apologise for who he was, and wanted to know all of her.

  He’d worked a little hole though the steel plating she kept between herself and the world. He’d touched her like no one else ever had. He’d battled with her intellect and tangled with her heart, and there was this indefinable thing they had: an itch that couldn’t be scratched out, a flare that burned her skin, a rolling in her stomach, a pinch in her brain.

  Rielle Mainline had long ago taught herself to go after what she wanted and now what she wanted was Jake Reed.

  Jake wondered whether it might be possible for a grown man to simply combust, burn up on the spot like a Phoenix, crumble to ash, and then rise up and do the whole thing again. Because as long as Rielle was standing there looking at him like that, he was kindling put to the match.

  According to Harry they were one-all in this battle of senses. One-all and he was already all in. But there was no backing away from whatever this was now. Bring on the ash.

  When Martin called a stop to re-align lighting and the band members moved about, Rand and Stu strolled over to the fans at the barricade, making the screaming lift a few decibels as they approached. Ceedee sat to have her makeup touched up, and Roley and How sculled water. Jake strode out from behind the camera to confront Rielle.

  “What are you trying to do?”

  “It’s called making a music video, Jake.”

  He stood toe to toe with her, crowding her, predatory. “You’re doing more than that.”

  Rielle held her ground, shifted her weight to her hip, brushing his chest with her shoulder. “If you know what I’m doing, why are you asking me?”

  “I just want to be sure I’m reading you right.”

  “Well, what are you reading?” She tucked her fingers between the buttons of his shirt, skimming his abs, just above his belt and the breath shot out of him in a hard thrust, but he said, as calmly as he could muster, “I’m reading memory lapse on your part.”

  “Memory lapse!” She balled his shirt in her fist, pulling her body into his.

  He brought his face down close, angling his cheek against hers, a fraction off touching. “You seem to think I’m going to forget what happened last time. I don’t just want your body, Rie. I’m wondering if that’s all you’re offering?”

  Now her breath stuttered. “You won’t know til you try.”

  He turned his head to whisper in her ear. “I won’t try til I know.”

  “You play too safe, Jake. Aren’t I worth the risk?”

  God yes! She was. Just to feel the silk of her skin moving on his was worth more than he could say, but he couldn’t face it if she shut down on him again. “I need to know if you’re in this all the way.”

  She put her hands on his waist and pressed her body against his. “You’ll enjoy the ride while it lasts. I don’t think you’ll want a refund.”

  He could tear her net costume off with one hand. He could toss her over his shoulder with the other. He didn’t think she’d mind. They could be somewhere private in fifteen minutes. Hell, who needed private? He looked into her violet eyes, put his flattened palm against her cheek. “All the way.”

  She dropped her eyes a
nd in that moment he knew it was still a game to her. He was simply another obstacle for her to conquer, like any other fear she had. Hearing her sobbing from the corridor outside her room that night had torn him up enough; but knowing she was reacting to him as a problem to face, a challenge to overcome was somehow worse.

  He breathed her in, cosmetics, shampoo and something of the night and its dark atmosphere—mystery and revelation, secrets and lies. He kissed her softly, far more softly than their words—a kiss with no agenda. Probably not what she’d expected. She’d have wanted to taste passion but he gave her goodbye.

  Her eyes flicked open when she caught the taste. She murmured, “No,” and caught his bottom lip with her teeth, bit down, not to hurt but to warn she wasn’t letting him go. He broke away laughing. He should’ve known she wouldn’t make it easy. Kiss not kill, but two sides of one coin. But she wasn’t going to get to call all the shots. He’d surprised her. They weren’t done yet and that was a point to him. Two-one.

  By the drum kit, How absently tossed and caught his sticks. He said to Roley, “Did you know about that?”

  “Fuck, no,” said Roley incredulously, his eyes fixed on Rielle and Jake.

  “Reckon we should warn him off?”

  “Fuck, no.”

  “But he’s a nice guy; she’ll mash him up.”

  “Nah, look at him, he’s got her number. We might actually get to see the day the Ice Queen melts.”

  33. Score

  Jake stood with Glen looking at the tangled wreck of a dropped lighting console. “Can you MacGyver that?” Glen said to Bodge.

  On his hands and knees, Bodge grunted which was his way of saying, ‘Yes sir, right away sir, no problem sir’.

  They were running behind on the set build, having battled typical Melbourne four-seasons-in-one-day weather that sent them a morning thunderstorm and stopped work for two hours. Now the sun blazed and it was steamy hot and in less than an hour the band was doing a site inspection. Jake wanted the construction crew off the stage as soon as possible, the show crew on in thirty minutes, and he wanted pigs to fly whistling the theme song to Game of Thrones as well.

  Then the band showed up early. Friggin’ early. Sharon took them backstage.

  “We’re not ready for a sound check.” Glen moaned, as roadies ran left and right of them, readying the stage with new urgency.

  “I know, I know,” Jake said holding his arms out in supplication. “I’m sorry, I told them we had weather problems, but they were keen to get going. They’ve got another sponsor commitment tonight.”

  “Not helping me, mate.”

  “Okay, give me a job. All hands to the pump.”

  That’s how he happened to be running cables, like the good old days, when the band appeared on stage.

  “When’d you get demoted, Jake?” asked Stu.

  He laughed. Stu had never mentioned the incident with the pool at Cherry, but he might’ve been getting a dig in now. Best to keep moving. “Step to your right mate, could you?” He shunted a power cable past.

  He was around the back of stage, head and shoulders under an amp stack, attaching the cable to a booster when a voice said, “That’s how I like my men—at my feet.”

  Thrill was a ripple of feeling up his spine and through his arms, like pins and needle pricks. He clicked the cable in place, tightened the screw and went to wriggle out when he realised Rielle was standing across his body, one leg either side of his hips. The more he wriggled, the more of her he could see: heeled ankle boots, smooth muscled legs, cut-off black denim shorts, a pierced belly button, defined abdominals, a really tiny red sleeveless t-shirt. Purple black lips suppressed a grin; eyes guarded by glittery lashes blinked at him.

  He came to a stop when her feet were level with his chest. He ran his hands up her calf muscles, feeling them jump under his palms. He gripped behind her knees.

  “You couldn’t take the heat last night,” she said, chin tucked in to look down at him.

  “You know you can tease a man too much, Rielle.” He jerked her knees towards him, tipping her weight backwards, forcing her to sit down hard across his hips.

  She gave a surprised, “Oh,” and planted her hands on his chest as her feet slid back and her knees hit the floor.

  “And when you tease a man too much, you might not like what happens,” he finished, eyeballing her. Under her makeup she flushed pink. She tried to scramble to her feet but he caught her hips and held her in place. “This is how I like my women.”

  Her eyes flared and she stopped struggling immediately, quick to realise the position he’d gotten her in and exactly how much he was enjoying her shifting about.

  “Now who can’t take the heat?” He laughed. And as abruptly as he’d tipped her over, he let her go. That round goes to me. Three-one. Now we’re getting somewhere.

  He expected her to spring to her feet; a slap or a kick wasn’t out of the question either. Instead she rocked her pelvis forward, grinding in to him, lay down over his chest, and whispered in his ear, “Say that to me when we’re alone and naked. Then let’s see what happens.” Before he could react, she sprang to her feet and was gone.

  Now it was his turn to flush as heat coursed through his body. He lay on the floor with no will to get up until his heart stopped auditioning for its own drum solo. To be fair, point to Rielle. That makes it three-two.

  By the time he got back to the main stage area, the band was ready for sound check. Bodge tossed him a radio mic. “You still on the job?” He nodded, so Bodge said, “Go mic Rielle.”

  He found her testing the climbing rig on the Hand. She saw him coming and completed her climb, setting him up to chase her. She stood in the open cage and baited him. “You want me, Jake?” She gave him a face all innocent and fresh, but her voice was all “Come fuck me and hurry up about it”.

  “Yeah.” He tried not to let the word carry extra meaning. Epic fail. It was one syllable and still he could hear the longing in it. Pretending he didn’t want to chase her down was like fish without the chips; half a meal, totally unsatisfactory.

  He could’ve won a lot of money on predicting her next line. She planted her hands on her hips and said, “Then you better come get me.”

  He groaned, put his hand on the first rung of the climbing rig and looked up at her. Without knowing it she had point to me written on her face. He took a deep breath, steadied his focus and hoisted himself up. The Hand was folded shut. He knew it wasn’t active so it wasn’t going anywhere, and that helped a lot. He looked up again to see her surprised grin and five seconds later was in the cage with her.

  He said, “Four-two,” and let go of the railing.

  “What?”

  “I’m keeping score. I’m four, you’re two.”

  “Score of what? Wait, I’m losing?”

  “Sure are, baby.” He spun her around and clipped the battery pack to her shorts. Then he ran his hand up her back, under her shirt, threading the mic cords from the battery pack to her earpiece.

  Rielle shivered as his knuckles grazed up her spine, flicking over her bra strap.

  When he leant into her and said, “Done,” in her ear, she spun around to face him.

  “Taken any Zanect today, Jake?”

  He smiled, “Nope.” She looked puzzled, definitely a point to him. Maybe even a bonus point for difficulty. The thought made him laugh as he grabbed the railing to start his descent.

  She stepped up close behind him. “My turn.” She fanned her palms over his mid back and up to his shoulders where she tucked her fingers into the neck of his t-shirt and pressed her body against his. There was no suppressing his groan of delight.

  From the ground where he was micing Ceedee, Teflon watched Jake. When Ceedee moved off, he elbowed Lizard and jerked his chin up to indicate the Hand. “How long’s that been going on?”

  “Fucked if I know,” said Lizard, mouth dropping open as he stared up at Rielle and Jake.

  “What are we looking at? Aw, what the fuck?�
� said Bodge joining them. “How long’s that been going on?”

  “Yeah, that’s what we wanna know,” said Teflon.

  The three of them watched as Jake turned back to face Rielle. She pulled a thread on the shoulder seam of his t-shirt and it unravelled, opening a flap in the cotton at his neck. They watched as she stood on tiptoe and dropped a kiss on the skin revealed under the torn shirt and Jake’s head tipped back as she nuzzled close.

  “Geez, get a room,” said Lizard.

  “I’m too old to watch this,” growled Bodge. But he kept watching.

  “I’m not,” said Teflon, “bring it on!”

  They were still watching when Jake jumped the last few steps to the stage floor, “What?” He walked towards them, knowing full well he’d been sprung.

  “You gettin’ a bit, Reedy?” asked Lizard.

  Jake was trying to fold the torn neckline of the shirt to stop it flapping, but gave up. “Cheap tour shirt,” he said, ignoring Lizard and the whole issue until Bodge clapped a big hand on his shoulder, and gave the loose cotton flap a tug, widening the hole.

  “You be good to that girl, Reedy, or you’ll be worried about more than a torn shirt.”

  Lizard stepped up, grabbed the shirt flap, pulled, and over the sound of ripping cotton said, “Yeah, what Bodge said.”

  “Hey!” Jake tucked his chin down. The rip in the cotton opened the t-shirt to his mid-chest.

  “Ah Reedy mate, the quality of the roadies on this tour, all arse, no class,” said Teflon, holding up his hands, shaking his head, aiming to give off a superior air. He went to walk past Jake, but at the last moment spun back, grabbed his shirt front and tore the rip wider.

  “Shit!” His shirt almost in two halves now and most of the cast and crew were laughing at him.

  Glen called out, “Jake, that’s a safety hazard mate. You wanna work on my crew, you can’t be wearing that. Next thing you know it’ll get caught on something and strangle you.”

  “What the fuck, Glen?” He laughed.