by Zoey Kinsman
“I don’t know. Does it really matter?”
“No, I just want good things for you. The thought of you home alone all the time makes me sad.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want you to be sad.” I laughed and patted his hand.
“Anne, stop it. You know what I mean.”
“I go out when I need to or want to go out, like to the movies or dinner with friends. But I’m a home body. I like my space and being it in. It’s relaxing.”
“And safe…”
“Yes, it’s safe, but like I said, there’s nothing wrong with safe.”
“Am I safe, too?”
“No, you’re actually quite dangerous and upsetting my applecart of life.”
“Good. But how am I changing things? I need details.”
“Well, I don’t really know you all that well, so it kind of freaks me out a little that I’m immediately so comfortable with you. I have good intuition about you, but I need more details, and to be able to trust more.”
“Okay, that’s fair. I’ll be happy to share more with you at dinner. Ask away.”
“Great, I look forward to grilling you.” My laughter was contagious, and when I looked over he seemed to also enjoy the wit.
My hair flew up and into the air, and as I reached to pull it back down, he quickly turned the car into the driveway of a rather posh looking larger home. It looked to be a ranch style modern bungalow with Tudor trimmings. Downlighting accentuated her beauty.
“We’re here.” He jumped out quickly to come open the door for me.
I took his outstretched hand and asked, “Where are we?”
“My place, this is my home.”
With a gentle tug of my hand he guided me through the front door, down the hallway, and into the dining room of his home. He had a table beautifully set with flowers, tablecloth, place settings, cutlery, candles, goblets, and an ice bucket with champagne chilling. All this was overlooking the Hollywood Hills.
Quickly taking in the scene, it was so perfectly planned and so wildly romantic, exactly how I secretly liked it. Then he asked me for my approval.
Reaching up, I kissed him in total appreciation of all the trouble he’d gone to arranging this evening. His arms rested along my lower back as he sighed his delight.
“I’m so glad you like it. I wanted everything to be perfect for you, because you are so perfect to me.”
“Oh, now, you are just trying to score more points with me.”
“Is it working?” he inquired quizzically.
“Yes, as a matter of fact it is.”
Then he started to sway us both back and forth. I moved to match him. Feeling his hardness press on me again, I held him closer. There was a quick click of something nearby, and slow melodic music filled the room. Our bodies found each other in a synchronized dance of two souls who had always searched to find each other. Neither one of us spoke for fear of breaking the steamy magical spell that seemed cast over us on that late Saturday afternoon.
It was so easy. It felt so easy. He made it easy for me to just fall for him. He made it easy to begin to trust.
Then Grumpy Cat awakened from some place of fear.
“I think you’d better feed me as promised, Mr. Wickham.” My voice was soft and measured.
“I did promise to do that. Come. Let’s sit, and I’ll call to have the food served.”
Oh, he had wait staff. She came promptly when beckoned. Her name was Stella, and he explained that she worked for him usually Monday to Friday, but had agreed to change her dates to accommodate his needs. How convenient.
“So, does everyone accommodate your wants and needs?”
“I wish they would. It would make life so much easier, don’t you think?”
He was putting this back on me.
“I don’t think we are put here to make other people happy. First, we have to make ourselves happy to be truly able to make others happy.” I looked at him to see his reaction to that.
“You have a point. So tell me, are you happy?”
Bam, he had done it again, asked a probing question that left me vulnerable. Regrouping, I knew I could handle it.
“Yes, for the most part I think I am happy. It’s taken a lot of hard work to get where I’m at, and it pleases me.”
“You mean you’re happy not having had sex or intimacy with someone for so long?”
“Why does it have to be about that? There are many ways to define happiness.” Yep, that was a good comeback. Score another one for team me. “Besides, are you happy? Tell the truth now.”
I had caught him in our battle of wits and waited patiently for his response. I could see that the question unnerved him as much as it had me.
“There are times of great joy, like when I get a scene right or when there is any kind of recognition for the work. I like looking at my bank account and knowing I did it myself. I’m happy with friends and when I can fuck someone special. I’m happy now here with you.” Then he looked down and paused to reflect. “Anne, sometimes I’ve found that happiness is also fleeting. Things that were supposed to go one way end up going another, and the happiness is stolen. Then the search starts anew.”
His words tugged at my heart, but I knew I needed to keep going.
“Hmm…so now I have two more new questions for you. First, is it always about the fucking, and second, I want to know all your times of stolen happiness. It matters to me.”
“I’ll tell you about the fucking second. First, let me start with the stories of stolen happiness. You know I had a hard upbringing with an abusive alcoholic father. I could never really be happy in the moment knowing my mom was always in some kind of danger. Whatever money I made at first from modeling, I saved some for her and some for me. There was no splurging on anything. I was kind of lucky, too, because the clothing companies would give me stuff to wear that promoted their brand. Gigs would send cars around for me. Every little bit helped me save. My goal was to get her out of that hellhole. I’d call, and her voice was strained. Ugh, I could hear how she missed me. She didn’t want to let on how much she suffered at his hands or his disease, shall we say. So, when I was happy, I would think of her and the moment quickly dissipated, was gone before my eyes. Happiness left quickly with the remembrance that I had left her behind and in danger. It preyed on me. When I seemed happy to others, I truly wasn’t.”
Then he paused, his pain on full display. Should I run to hold him or wait for this to pass? I wanted to reach for him, but he seemed so emotionally closed down.
“I can’t talk about it anymore.”
“Can you just tell me how your mom is doing now?”
Without pause, he simply stated, “My mom perished at his hands.”
My natural instincts took over. I ran to sit on his lap, to hold him close. No words needed to be spoken. Stroking his hair, his face, his shoulders and back, I quietly spoke, “You are a remarkable man, Paul. I’m proud to call you my friend.” I kissed his neck and the sides of his face, hoping each kiss held some kind of healing power. From what I could tell, he didn’t deserve such suffering…no one did.
He held on.
“Anne…there’s more to the story.” He whispered, “I got her out and into a safe house where he couldn’t find her. The authorities told me he couldn’t find her, and I believed them. But one day, he showed up with a hand gun and mowed her down. It was all about being some kind of big man in control.”
A long pause followed. My hand brushed away a single tear that begged to drop freely down his face. I got to it first.
“Today, thank God, or any god that might exist, he sits and rots in prison like he deserves.”
Holding him as closely as I could, I hung on to him as he clung to me.
“That’s what my PR team wiped clean. It wouldn’t bode well for an actor on the rise.” He was almost out of breath and near tears.
“Listen Paul…listen to me closely…you deserve the best. All your intentions were good, and you’ve worked so hard to get here. Let the
happiness be yours. Let it wash over you and be real.”
“I will, but only if you promise to let love into your own life again.”
His comment took me aback.
“One has nothing to do with the other. I’m here for you now. Let me be here, please.” I tugged him close to me again and kissed him deeply.
His eyes met mine and held me. “It all has to do with each other. You can’t dismiss your pain only to work on mine. If, like you say, we are friends, we love together and hate together…all of it.”
Kissing him again and again fervently, his words were too much to bear. Leaning over, speaking softly into his ear, my words asked, “Will you promise to always love me more than hate me?”
Fiercely, with conviction, his hands pulled back my hair and then took my face. Looking into my eyes once more, he invoked the love that lay below the surface for both, “Yes, my beauty. I promise a million times yes, I will always love you more.”
It was happening so fast. Maybe it was always meant to be so fast and furious. But I didn’t want it to burn out too quickly, or to lose the very oxygen that gave life to whatever it was that was blazing like hot fire between us. I needed my water now.
“I just want some water.”
I stumbled off his lap.
He could see that the truth was overwhelming me, and like a true gentleman he stood now and helped me back to my seat.
Sitting and drinking the cool refreshing water that cooled down my insides, I noticed him watching and his smiles escaped him.
“Why so much smiling?”
“My smiles escape me because for the first time in a long time, I’m genuinely happy. You asked me to own it, and I’m owning what’s happening between us and loving it. But I need you to be an active participant, too.” And with that comment he let out the biggest laugh. “Um, I don’t really like having to pleasure myself alone.”
“Seriously, there is something here. Yep, I’m going to have to give you that. But consider that, like anything that moves too fast, I might be getting dizzy from the speed. It’s only been a few days.”
“Love is like that, I think. It’s either there or it’s not. You can’t manufacture it or pretend, like in acting, that it’s there. If it’s an act, the curtain will come down one day. We have it. Let’s just acknowledge that and see where it goes.”
“You’re making too much sense. Stop that now!” I laughed as well to relieve some of the realness in the air.
He poured our flutes full. “Yes, so let’s toast to more happy times together.”
Then he called, and Stella brought the main course. At this point, we both decided lighter conversation was in order.
“So tell me, did you get all your work done that you needed to get done today?”
“Yes, and it feels great. Monday will be much easier on me and Trish.”
“I’m glad that sacrificing my time with you paid off.” We both liked the humor.
“Can I make it up to you by spending some additional time together tomorrow?” Teasing with him was easy, too.
“What makes you think I wasn’t going to be seeing you tomorrow? For the record, though, and to be up front,” he said nonchalantly, while munching away on his steak, “I’m on hiatus now for the next month, and then I go back to Northern Ireland to start shooting again. So I plan to see you as much as possible before I have to go.”
What? The panic alarm went off in me. He was only looking for a month’s worth of comfort. Shit, I’d been played by a master.
“Oh, silly me, this is actually, after all, a quick but short-lived romance. Okay, I get it now. Thanks for the clarity.” I suddenly lost my appetite.
He could see my mood transform and the look of dismay on my face. I was notoriously bad at hiding my emotions. One more reason I didn’t usually engage to such depths. Now I needed to retract and step back again, or risk being hurt once more when he left.
“I’m hoping and praying that you’ll come with me, or at least plan to be there for long periods till I break again.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. I have a successful business, one that has taken me years to cultivate. A business that I absolutely love…and then there’s Trish. Why would I sacrifice that?”
“You would sacrifice it for me, as I would for you.”
“I would never ask you to sacrifice anything you loved so much.”
“Really, you wouldn’t ask me, but maybe I would anyways because being with you is more important to me. Do you want me to step out of the role and find something here?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I could never live with myself knowing I was the one responsible for taking you away from your big break.”
“Hopefully, there would be more breaks.”
“Nothing in life is guaranteed…nothing. No, don’t do that please. Promise me.”
“I promise you, Anne. But what now?”
The air was tense once more. It went from so easy to so hard in a flash.
Then he spoke, “Have you ever thought that maybe it’s time to give Trish more responsibility, and to maybe even cut her in? As a business woman, haven’t you even thought of a succession plan? What would happen to your business if, God forbid, you got sick? What then? And besides, she could run it while you’re gone, and you could work remotely. Many business people do that.”
“Oh, what sense you make, Mr. Wickham. But what about me and my needs and wants? Did you ever stop to think on that? You see, you don’t know me as well as you profess.”
Was it anger or upset that clouded my eyes now?
“I’m sorry, Anne. It’s just that when I thought of it, I thought for sure you would want to come with me. Aren’t I the silly romantic one?” He was pissed off now, because he interpreted my comments as rejection.
“I’m not trying to be rejecting, I’m just trying to be realistic. Will I be happy away from my home base? I don’t know.” That was as honest as I could get.
His tone changed, and he seemed more understanding. “You’re right. It’s unknown. We’d have to travel it together and find out, but you’d have to be willing to find out, dearest. So, enough of this talk, too. I don’t know how we got so heavy again. I just wanted to be honest, but there still is lots of time to figure it out. Let’s just enjoy this time, here, right now, together.”
“I agree with you wholeheartedly. Let’s agree right now to let life take its own course. You might end up hating me after a month.”
“I promised you I wouldn’t, and I take that promise seriously. I know myself very well.”
Lightening it up further, I said, “Okay, so onward we go. And by the way, you eat way too much red meat in a week. You’ll need to cut that out.”
He looked at me and saw I meant it.
“I’ll work on it.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now let me refresh your drink.” He poured my flute full again, and this time, after such heaviness, I wanted to only feel light. For one night, I wanted to float above it all and pretend he was my forever love come to find me. Maybe he was my Prince Charming, or maybe he was the devil in sheep’s clothing. But whichever one, I didn’t want to know right then and there.
“You look so far away in thought. What are you thinking about?”
“I’m thinking how much I would like to see your view from the terrace in the night time. Do the stars really twinkle brighter in the hills? I’d like to see and know that.”
“We can have our coffee on the terrace and under the stars, and you can tell me what you think. Sound good?”
“Sounds great.”
He called to ask Stella to set up coffee on the terrace. While he was doing that, my mind ruminated on my emotional survival. I was beginning to fall for a man who would be leaving me in a month’s time. Could I, and did I really want to deal with all that? If I kept spending time with him, we’d only grow closer. Could I handle all the bullshit the separation would bring? Maybe I should just go home and forget that
I’d ever met him. But that would be totally selling out. He was some kind of destiny, and I was in need of his kind of destiny. Or was I just in need of divine fucking? Either way, the experience was tantalizing, and more looked so good.
Stella came back in time to prevent a meltdown.
“Miss, are you finished with your meal? May I take your plate?”
“Yes, and thank you very much, Stella. The food and service have been great.” I smiled at her warmly.
She smiled back as if this wasn’t her first go around with women and meals at the Wickham home. I let her go about her work without any further distractions.
“Stella has been with me since the beginning, since Viceroy. She’s very good at what she does, and very special.”
“How so?”
“Just a great person…she’s very understanding.”
He stood and reached his hand for mine. Reciprocating, I took his hand and stood to follow him out to the terrace at the back of the home. On the way we passed by his bedroom. It was neat and tidy, the bed properly made, but his very distinct smell permeated the space and floated freely into the hallway we walked through. I breathed it in deeply, and then wondered what it might feel like to lie in his bed pressed up against him.
When we reached the terrace, there were two wicker chairs side by side, and a table nearby with a tray of coffees and dessert. The bucket with our champagne sat off to the side. Stella had lit the citronella torches nearby that burned brightly against the smoky night sky.
“Shall we finish our champagne first?” As host, Paul sat in the chair closest to the table so that he could serve.
Sitting down next to him in the other chair, I replied, “I think if I drank anymore champagne you might have to carry me home,” and laughed.
“I would never carry you home.”
“No, you would leave me to wobble my way back?” and proceeded to further laugh at his nonsense.
“Of course not. I would put you to sleep right up against me in that bed you were eyeing on our way out.” And then he started to laugh as well.
“Silly you, thinking I was eyeing your bed. I was eyeing the décor.”
“C’mon, fess up; you were looking at my bed. Don’t beds tell you something about a person?”
