Going Sasquatch

by Jess Whitecroft

  “Oh God, what are you doing?”

  “Nope. No more distractions. We’re doing it with the lights out.”

  He laughed. “Finn, it’s pitch black.”

  “I know,” I said, fumbling my way back across the bed to him. I found an elbow, a shoulder. Followed it down to a hip. There he was, warm and hard and waiting for me. “We don’t need to see.” I stretched out above him, finding his lips only by the faint glint of his eye in the darkness. We were hip-to-hip, mouth-to-mouth, our cocks pulsing side by side between our bodies. “We just need to feel.”

  He was going to say something else, but his laughter subsided as I thrust gently against him. And like the star client he was, he got it right away, arching up to meet me, rocking into my hips. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, that’s good.”

  I kissed him slow and deep, our mouths making little liquid noises in the dark. Every now and again, as the gentle but inexorable pressure built between us, he would break off to catch him breath in a short, ragged sigh. I found his collarbone with my fingertip and leaned back just far enough to expose his chest. On it I drew a shape, one I knew so very well after all these months of yearning.

  “You feel this?” I said. “This line I’m drawing with my finger?”

  “Mmhm.”

  “That’s the curve of your ass,” I said. “Which I could draw blindfold. From memory.”

  His thigh came up around me, his leg holding me in place on top of him. One of us must have leaked in our eagerness, because the slow grind between us suddenly felt silkier and all the more delicious. “Your hair has about three natural partings,” I said, moving steadily in time with his breaths. “And none of them will behave. When your hair is natural and the sun gets on it you get red streaks and sandy streaks in among the brown. You have freckles on your shoulders, and a bad tattoo of a star at the top of your spine.”

  I felt his heel dig into the small of my back. “Oh God. What are you doing to me?”

  To this day I never knew why he asked that question, and I never asked. But I knew the answer right away. This wasn’t just sex; I was spilling far too much of my soul for that, and I knew it was too much, too fast, but I’d been holding back for so long. I couldn’t help myself any more.

  “Your eyes are green,” I said. “But they change in the light. Sometimes they look clear green all the way through, then other times they look hazel, because of the golden-brown flecks in them.”

  He moaned, his body rising up to meet me. I felt his mouth on the inside of my arm. “You have a pure white hair in your left eyebrow,” I said. “Even thought you’re only thirty-one. Your nose creases when you smile, and no matter how much muscle you pack on, you still giggle like a goddamn schoolgirl. You’re not forgettable, Chase.”

  His heel dug harder into me, and he found my lips. He kissed me with deep swirls and little sighs, his hips undulating slowly under mine. “Finn, please,” he whispered. “Please,” and we sunk even deeper into one another in the dark.

  *

  I woke up alone in the middle of the big, white-sheeted bed, the smell of coffee in my nostrils. I could hear Chase moving around in the kitchen below and already I was rehearsing how this might go. The big morning after moment, when you have to face up to what you did in the cold light of day.

  Oh Jesus. What had I done? I hadn’t even fucked him. Instead we’d sucked and licked and humped and fondled every which way, but I’d breached something other than simple flesh. I’d pulled his thighs around me and opened my mouth wide to devour the low sobbing sounds he made as he gave into his pleasure with slow, deep, bone-shaking shudders. And through it all my heart had been wild with the joy of him.

  Last night I had made love to Chase Morrow.

  It was too much, too soon, and right away I was worried. How did I play this? Stroll down the stairs with my dick swinging and slap him on the ass like this had just been a friendly buddy fuck, no strings, no big? No. I know a lot of Hollywood types could be pretty obtuse, but Chase wasn’t one of them. I was pretty sure he’d noticed.

  I sat up. There was a white terrycloth robe laid out for me on the end of the bed, and the sight of it made my stomach give a nasty lurch. It was so deliberate, like Chase had set it there because he knew the conversation we were going to have in the morning was not the kind of conversation you had naked.

  No. It wasn’t that. Maybe he was just being considerate. That’s all it was. It was just me and my tendency to overthink things.

  I put on the robe anyway, and went down the spiral staircase into the living area.

  Chase was in the kitchen, looking angelic in his own white robe, his newly bleached hair like a pale, rumpled halo. When he caught my eye he looked afraid, and my stomach did another slow roll.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “Hi.”

  “You want some coffee?”

  “Sure.” Oh, this was not good, and I just figured I may as well go ahead. Dive in there. Get it over with sooner rather than later. “Are we going to be weird now?”

  Chase didn’t smile. Just poured the coffee. Oh God. “Sit down,” he said, gesturing to the seating area. “I want to talk to you.”

  “Well, that sounds ominous.”

  My heart was in my mouth as I sat down on one of the large oatmeal colored armchairs. Chase handed me my coffee and took a seat on the couch opposite. This was bad.

  “Is this about last night?” I said.

  He nodded. “Finn, last night was…incredible. The things you did. The things you said. I can’t remember the last time I felt so happy.” There was a ‘but’ coming, and I braced for impact. “Or so fucking scared.”

  “Look,” I said. “If you’re worried about the studio…”

  Chase shook his head. “No, it’s not that,” he said. “Well, it sort of is.”

  God, he looked beautiful. Even the depths of his anxiety couldn’t hide what I’d done to him last night. His lips were pinker. His eyes shone brighter. His skin and hair glowed with the restorative powers of good, strong, satisfying sex. Or maybe it was just one of those cruel tricks of fate. Here was a paradise I was about to lose.

  He was about to tell me that we could never be together. Because of the studio, he’d say, but really it was because I’d given too much away last night. And I’d frightened him off. “Tell me,” I said.

  Chase sighed, hugging his coffee mug with both hands. “It’s going to sound stupid…”

  “Tell me.”

  He set down the mug. It must have been burning him. “Okay,” he said. “What it is, is that sometimes I feel like I’m not a real person.”

  “Okay.”

  “Sometimes I’m not a real person,” he said. “Sometimes I’m Chase Morrow, Movie Star. And that’s it. That’s who I am. I am my job and nothing more. I smile pretty, I sign autographs, I say please and thank you nicely and I go on entertainment shows and answer questions not much more complicated that ‘What’s your favorite flavor of ice-cream?’ and ‘Are you a mammal?’”

  I took a sip of my coffee. “Actually I know some celebrities who would struggle with those,” I said. “But yeah, I get it.”

  “Do you?” he said. “Because that’s the level that person operates at. He’s shallow and empty and…kinda basic.”

  Oh God, what kind of Hollywood fucked-uppery was I dealing with now? Was there anyone that town couldn’t ruin in some way. “You’re not basic, Chase,” I said.

  He looked across at me and he was nothing but eyes. “I know,” he said, and I heard the smallest tremble in his voice. “You said so. Last night.”

  “I know I did,” I said, scrambling for an opportunity to backpedal. “And I–”

  “–no. Please,” he said, and the urgency in his tone made me stop. “Please don’t say you regret it.”

  Color me Edith Piaf. My vie just got a whole lot more rose tinted. “I don’t regret it, Chase. I meant every single word I said to you.”

  He lit up in that moment, and so did I, because
that was when I knew that whatever ‘but’ was coming was no way big enough to flatten us, whatever we were. “You see,” he said, but he couldn’t quite keep from smiling. “That’s the part that scares me.”

  “Baby, why?”

  “You have to understand,” said Chase. “This person I construct is hollow, because he’s the person I hide inside. He’s like my exoskeleton, my armor. The real me – I stay inside while the shell takes the gossip and the praise and the awful reviews. All of it. He takes the blows and I…I get out of practice. I hide inside where my skin gets thinner and thinner, out of disuse more than anything else.” He sighed again. “I’m fragile, Finn. I just…I feel like you ought to know that.”

  “So…what?” I said. “You’re blowing me off?”

  Chase shook his head and I breathed once more. “No. I’m just warning…no, I’m asking you. Please be careful with me.”

  I held my arms out to him. “Come here.”

  He straddled my lap, his robe opening over his thighs as he found purchase with his knees on the chair either side of me. It was impossible not to touch. I slid my hands up the backs of his legs, cupping his ass as he leaned forward. When he kissed me his mouth tasted of coffee, and his lips were still tender from beard rash.

  “Listen,” I said. “I will treat you like you were made of rose petals, if that’s what you want. I know you’re fragile, Chase. I’ve watched you melt down, remember?”

  He nodded, his eyelashes gold in the morning sun. “You don’t mind that I’m nuts?”

  “You’re not nuts. You’re human, despite what you say, despite what you feel. You’re a real person. A real, complicated, messy, funny, beautiful person.” I reached up and ran my fingers through his hair. “And I just can’t wait to find out more about you.”

  “You sure?”

  I gave him a warning look. I wasn’t going to be pushed away like this.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m just saying. There are dark and awful things you don’t know about me.”

  “Really?” I said. He swayed a little on his knees. His robe fell open and he was naked in my lap, his perfect skin marked only by the occasion bug bite from our brief stay at Chateau Bedbug. He wasn’t hard, but I could tell by the light in his eyes that he could be, if I wanted to get playful. Crisis over.

  “I’ve eaten my own boogers,” he said, so solemnly that I let out a snort of unexpected laughter. “And I’ve enjoyed them. Oh, and I own a pair of Crocs.”

  “What?”

  “And last year,” he said, swaying gently on his knees. “I considered voting third party.”

  “Holy shit. You’re a monster.”

  “In my defense,” he said. “I only considered it. In a fleeting moment of dumbness. Come on, this is like the bluest state in the nation.”

  “Yeah. And a fat lot of good that did us.”

  “Yep. Still ended up with Cheeto Benito.”

  “In part thanks to geniuses voting third party,” I said, lightly slapping his thigh.

  “I told you. I didn’t actually do it. I’m just saying. I’m not perfect.”

  “No,” I said, my hands once again roaming up the backs of his thighs. He had thickened under my gaze and I was rising to the occasion myself. “You’re not. Except for your ass.”

  Chase narrowed his eyes. “Why does everything these days seem to come back around to my ass?”

  I squeezed it. “Because your ass is fucking beautiful. I want to eat it.”

  He actually blushed. Immediately I was on fire to know what he’d do if I bent him over, spread his cheeks and crammed my tongue didn’t shine. He leaned over and kissed me, sighing as I took hold of his cock.

  “I think maybe we should get some actual groceries first,” he said, when he came up for air.

  “Man cannot live on ass alone, huh?”

  We’d been living on goodie basket snacks and chicken skewers, and while neither of us had been sufficiently daring (or deranged) to attempt the Yeti Special at the Skookum Bar and Grill, our diets had degenerated into the kind of thing that put me – as a personal trainer – to shame.

  “No, you’re right,” I said, and closed his robe before I got any further ideas. As I did so I realized it was over; we’d just done the Morning After thing and survived it. “Are we okay?”

  “Yeah,” said Chase, smiling down at me. “I think we are.”

  “See? I may work in Hollywood, but I’m not Hollywood-shallow. I’m not going to toss you aside over booger eating, crocs and Jill Stein.”

  He screwed up his nose. “Actually it was Gary Johnson,” he said, standing up.

  “Jesus Christ, Chase.”

  “What? I told you it was a moron moment.”

  “Yeah, but really?” I got up from the chair and wrapped my arms around his waist. Idiot or not, I couldn’t seem to keep my hands off him. “Gary ‘What’s Aleppo?’ Johnson?”

  Chase pouted. “Finn, I’m a fucking movie star. My bar for ‘moron’ is a lot lower than most, okay?”

  I laughed. “Would ‘What’s your favorite flavor of ice-cream?’ be a controversial question right now?”

  He made saucer eyes at me. “Does this mean you’re going to let me eat ice-cream?”

  “Nope,” I said, and he made a low noise of disgust and pushed me away. He headed towards the bathroom. “Come on. Let’s get you some real food. Before your brain atrophies from lack of protein and you attempt to join the Libertarian party.”

  “Jill Stein thinks WiFi gives you cancer,” said Chase, like that proved anything, and closed the bathroom door.

  6

  Nobody was looking at him.

  I was walking around a grocery store with a movie star and nobody had so much as looked twice at him. I watched, confused, as a woman on a mobility scooter came down the aisle towards us at a speed that surely would give her time for a double take.

  I nudged Chase, who was standing squinting over the rims of his glasses at two different packages of bacon. “Oh, sorry,” he said, stepping out of the woman’s way. “I can’t see a thing.” He tapped the rims of his glasses. “Gotta get my prescription renewed.”

  “Ugh,” she said. “Expensive, though.”

  “It sure is,” said Chase, and she carried on her way. He turned back to me and held up the bacon. “Hickory smoked or maple?”

  “Either,” I said. “Whatever. How did that woman not recognize you?”

  He dropped the bacon in the cart and started off towards the checkout. “Probably because she wasn’t looking for me,” he said. “Or anyone in particular. Almost every time I get spotted it’s in Hollywood, where everyone’s looking for famous faces. That and I’m not wearing sunglasses, a fake mustache and a stupid hat. Do that and you may as well wear a goddamn sandwich board saying ‘Please pay attention to me.’ Looks desperate.”

  We paid for the groceries and passed the dumb tabloids on the way out. I knew them well. They operated on a sliding scale from divorce rumors and celebrity weight gain, all the way up to Bigfoot sightings and alien impregnation. I glimpsed a small picture of Chase and Harper Kennedy, squished to the side of a cover dominated by the headline EXCLUSIVE! BEYONCE’S BIRTH PLAN. They were smiling in a polite red-carpet clinch, arms around each others waists. IS SHE CHEATING ON HIM? OUR BODY LANGUAGE EXPERT EXPLAINS.

  “Oh God,” I said, holding up a hand at the side of his eyes. “Don’t look.”

  He laughed and walked through the automatic doors. “Who even reads those things?” he said. “I always wondered. They obviously have enough of a circulation to justify a print run, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone actually reading one.”

  “Patty Chive,” I said.

  “Who the hell is Patty Chive?”

  “The neighbor lady back home. She has a houseful of old National Enquirers and can’t keep her nose out of anyone’s business longer than it takes the average person to say ‘J. Edgar Hoover’. One time my mom thought she might have to get a restraining order on account of t
he escalating pumpkin incidents…” I watched an elderly couple stroll past Chase without batting an eyelid. “…no, you see. There it is again. That’s just weird.”

  “Says the man who just dropped the words ‘escalating pumpkin incidents’ into the conversation,” said Chase. “It’s not that weird, Finn. It happens all the time.”

  “Why? I don’t get it. You’re only a bleach job above the Clark Kent School of Disguises, for God’s sake.”

  Chase laughed, amused by how much it was bothering me. “Fine,” he said, taking off his glasses. “Hold these.”

  He shifted the grocery bags in his arms and headed across the parking lot towards the car. Immediately he looked different, leggier, his spine straighter and his shoulders higher. And that’s when it hit me. This was a red carpet walk. You could practically hear the flashbulbs. A red-haired lady was walking towards the entrance at the same time, and as she passed him I saw the look on her face, a look you see in Hollywood all the time, when people are checking you out and trying to figure out if you’re famous or not. I heard him say ‘hi’ and she gaped at him as she passed.

  Chase reached the car and turned around, and there he was. Chase Morrow, Movie Star. He’d bleached his hair, but there was no mistaking that shy but candid smile, those broad shoulders and long legs. I raced across the parking lot towards him.

  “Fuck,” I said. “Oh my God. Get in the car. Put your glasses back on.”

  “Can I drive?”

  “Yes, whatever. Just get us out of here before someone else sees.”

  He laughed and looked like himself again. I was stunned at the transformation. Sure, we’d talked about his separate personas just this morning, but I hadn’t imagined it could happen like that. It was like he’d flipped a switch.

  He was still laughing as we pulled out of the parking lot. “What the fuck just happened?” I said.

  Chase rolled down the window, the wind ruffling his pale hair. “Marilyn Monroe,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Marilyn Monroe. There was this story about her that I always loved, when she went to New York one time to hang with her friend Susan Lee Strasberg.”