Double Stuffed: An MFM Menage Romance

by Dawn, Daphne

  Jordan appears and takes my towel. I was just going to ask the little runt to wet it for me, the way I always have it during filming to keep me cool.

  “I’ll do that,” Jordan says and leaves again.

  Furrowing my brow, I slump back in my chair.

  “Todd,” Sophie calls.

  I saunter back to my set. We shoot the next scene.

  “Five-minute break everyone,” calls Sophie after the take.

  “Hey, you,” I call out to someone who doesn’t seem to be doing anything. “Get me a double espresso and don’t be long about it.”

  Someone offers me one of those plastic cups of pretend coffee, but I shake my head.

  “I’d rather drink poison,” I grumble and wait for my espresso.

  With my cup of coffee in hand, I look around for Jordan. What’s with him today, why isn’t he here when I need him?

  “Hey, you,” I shout to the runner. “Get me some biscuits from my trailer.”

  “We have some, right over by the little kitchen,” pipes up another faceless voice and rage builds in me like a storm.

  “I want my biscuits, not some cheap shit the director bought for the commoners.”

  I know I sound fucking salty today, but I just can’t help it.

  When the boy arrives with my tin of goodies, I take a look inside and shut it again. My favorites aren’t there.

  “Jordan!” I shout, wondering how the hell I’m going to get through this day in hell.

  Sophie

  My reflection tells me I’m every bit as tired as I look. It’s been a long day, after all.

  Day four of shooting wrapped up just before midnight, and all I’m looking forward to now is a hot bath and a nice glass of wine.

  I yawn and continue to remove the make up on my face.

  “Hey gorgeous,” Alice comes into my trailer. I hate the way she’s still all bouncy and looks terrific.

  “You ok?”

  I nod and reach for some cotton buds.

  “Great day today.” Alice leans against my dresser. “You should be really excited. It’s all coming along nicely.”

  I gnaw at my bottom lip. She’s right, so far so good. I don’t like to tempt fate though, so I choose my words carefully. Dad was a great believer in never being too optimistic before the product is in the bag.

  “It’s going along ok, I guess.”

  Alice laughs.

  “Like father, like daughter.”

  I smile.

  “I’ve got a date with Eric,” Alice changes the subject. “Will you be ok if I leave now?’

  I feel a rush of gratitude for my friend. It’s nice to know someone’s looking after me.

  “Sure,” I reassure her. “I’ve just got to take my make-up off and I’m out of here. You two lovebirds go and enjoy yourselves.”

  Alice gives me a kiss on the cheek.

  “Go,” I repeat and watch her head to the door. “And Alice, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  We both laugh.

  And then she’s gone.

  Once my make-up is gone, I change into t-shirt and jeans and leave. I turn out the lights of my trailer and lock the door.

  It feels good to breathe the cool, crisp air of the night. After having been stuck inside all day, breathing in air-conditioned air, this is refreshing.

  Slowly I walk to my car.

  A low growl has me stopping in my tracks. At first, I’m not quite sure what sort of noise it is, but then I see a Porsche. Now the horn honks.

  It’s Todd. He has his window down and gives me a wave.

  My heart beats a little faster.

  I quickly looked around. The car park is deserted. What’s he doing here? I try not to show any sign of nervousness.

  The sports car draws level with me.

  “Thought the director would be the last person to leave the studio.”

  My imagination threatens to run away with me. Is he really smiling genuinely at me?

  I try and gauge the distance to my car. I might just make it, if in case I have to run for it.

  “You are right.” I hope my voice does not betray my emotional turmoil.

  “Don’t think I’m here to offer you a lift, Ms. Palmer.”

  He enunciates every letter of my name.

  My racing heart is joined by millions of butterflies.

  “I know that a Palmer always makes sure they have their own mode of transport.”

  Is he laughing at me? Slowly the butterflies recede and my heart beats almost normal again.

  His comment riles me. Todd Alexander really knows how to push my buttons.

  I decide the best course of action is to simply ignore him. A reply would only fuel the fire and lead to who knows where.

  I make a beeline for my car, taking large strides away from the actor and his toy.

  Todd is calling out something to me.

  I can’t hear him.

  Snippets of words like “know,” “let,” “my” and “think” is all I can make out.

  I keep walking. I just want to get home and relax before tomorrow—no today’s—shooting starts again.

  The Porsche seems to be following me and Todd is still shouting something.

  I slow down my steps, hesitating.

  “What’s your answer?”

  Todd is leaning with his left arm on the open window.

  “My answer to what?”

  If he thought I had heard anything, he’s mistaken.

  “I wanted to know if you would come to have dinner with me.”

  Emotions flood me, mixed emotions. My instant reaction is to say no. But something tells me to stop and think about my answer.

  As if sensing my hesitation, Todd’s smile widens.

  “Come on, I’m only asking you for dinner, not a commitment for life.”

  I chuckle. Who knew Todd could be funny? So far, we’ve only seen the aggressive, angry Todd.

  Still, I wonder how good of a move it is to agree to this dinner. I nearly thought of it in terms of a dinner date, although he hasn’t called it that.

  “So, how about it? Dinner? With me?”

  Before I can stop myself, I nod.

  “Ok.” I add, and wonder how wise this decision will turn out to be.

  I expected Todd to now drive off, victory in the bag, but he doesn’t.

  In a flash, he is by my side and escorts me the last few steps to my car where he promptly holds the door open for me after I unlock it.

  I slide into the driver’s seat.

  For the first time, I’m acutely aware of his presence. He’s damn good looking and I have to say he smells delicious.

  I turn the key.

  “Thank you.” I smile and give him a little wave.

  To my further surprise, Todd takes a little bow before he too goes back to his car.

  My fingers drum on the steering wheel as I make my way out of the car park.

  Was that wise, Ms. Palmer? my inner voice wants to know. Of course it was, I reassure it and myself.

  I only agreed to have dinner with him.

  Dinner will give me the opportunity to mingle with one of my leading actors of the film. And mingling with the actors is a good thing. Mingling allows us to pick each other’s brain— and other things too , a voice from somewhere pipes up.

  Fool. You are a fool —that sensible part in me keeps on voicing its opinion.

  If I’m honest, I have no idea why I agreed to this dinner. He must have caught me off guard. After a long day, I’m just too tired to make proper decisions.

  Admit it Sophie, he’s hot and you wouldn’t mind getting to know him , my other voice interjects, and I decide to stop dwelling on the topic of Todd and the upcoming dinner.

  Que Sera, Sera —what happens, happens.

  Todd

  To my own surprise, my heart is beating a little faster than usual when the doorbell rings, and I stop in front of the hallway mirror to make sure my hair looks good.

  If there’s o
ne thing I hate, it’s bad hair days. My hair is my pride and joy. I still can’t get over the fact that the hair dude on the film set has not been fired.

  As I unlock the door, I take a deep breath to calm down before I open it. I can’t understand my own reaction to my visitor. Usually I’m cool, calm and collected, not a nervous wreck.

  “Hey,” I smile and take a step to the side.

  Sophie looks stunning. My eyes take in her legs that are barely covered in an ultra-short miniskirt, and her white blouse, buttoned up to just the right spot. I can make out the pink lace of her bra. Quickly, I look her in the eyes. She’s smiling.

  “Glad you came,” I say more to break the silence than anything else, but as I say it, I realize it’s the truth—I’m glad she came.

  “Come into my castle.”

  She laughs, and I bathe in her smile and eyes. Her face lights up when she smiles.

  “Doesn’t look much like a castle,” she replies and follows me into my kingdom.

  “Fair maiden,” I hold up my right. “Do not let your eyes deceive you. Have you not heard the saying ‘not everything is as it first appears’?”

  Genuine belly laughter.

  “I can’t say I have.”

  I turn toward her and put my hands on my hips.

  “And you call yourself a creative person.”

  She just shrugs.

  “Please take a seat while I prepare dinner.”

  Gracefully, Sophie sits on my white leather lounge. One leg slides casually over the other. Her foot taps to some unheard beat in the air. She leans back into the plush black cushions and I wish Blake could paint her. The man sure knows how to capture a moment.

  “So.” I pull out my phone.

  “You prepare dinner with your phone?” She raises her eyebrows and her voice sounds like she’s mocking me.

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  This has her bursting out in another fit of laughter. She shakes her head.

  “I usually prepare dinner in the kitchen without the phone, just using pots and pans. You’ve heard of those?”

  I pretend to think before I shake my head.

  “Can’t say I have. As I was saying, for dinner I shall get us some take away.”

  “I hadn’t really expected you to cook.” She laughs.

  Crushed, I hold up my hands.

  “What? An insult in the first five minutes of being in my home? I can’t believe it.”

  Sophie shakes her head.

  “Ok. So, what do you fancy?”

  “You’re the master chef, you decide.”

  I like this girl. I press speed dial. Naturally, my favorite takeaway place is on top of the list. After I’ve ordered, I head to the bar to prepare us a couple of drinks.

  Sophie has left her spot on the couch and is meandering through my living room.

  “I love these paintings.”

  Sophie is standing in front of one of my favorite pictures.

  “Look at the colors and emotions in this one. Reds, yellows and oranges combine in a dance of fury. Who painted these?”

  “One of my childhood friends, Blake—he’s a painter. These are part of a series.”

  “Wow.” Sophie sounds impressed.

  “He’s very talented.” I agree and hand her a glass with a pre-dinner drink.

  “What about your parents? They must be very proud.”

  I lower my eyes and take a sip of my drink. Parents. Feelings. Touchy subjects I don’t discuss with anyone. And yet, there’s something about this woman that compels me to share my past with her.

  “My parents were perfect.” I start, but I have to take a breath to keep going.

  “A skiing accident took their lives away, just after my first big movie success.”

  It’s difficult to keep going. I haven’t told many people about this.

  “I’m so sorry.” She’s put a hand in front of her mouth. “I had no idea. I shouldn’t have asked. Please forgive me.”

  Her compassion touches me. She seems to genuinely care.

  I clear my throat.

  “After they died, I think I caught a bit of attitude. You know, dealing with the death of your parents at a fairly young age leaves its mark. I felt treated badly, and so I acted out.”

  Sophie nods and I think there’s a tear in her eyes.

  “Oh, Todd. I can’t begin to imagine what that must feel like.”

  Thankfully, we are interrupted by the delivery of our food. I don’t go for all that touchy-feely crap.

  When I open the box of goodies, Sophie laughs.

  “You go for cheesy, fatty food?”

  I nod as I bite into my cheeseburger and slurp on my milkshake.

  “Comfort food. I like my comfort food.”

  Briefly, I wonder if Sophie is the type of chick to be on one of those new age diets, the one where you can barely eat anything other than bottled organic water. Just then, Sophie takes a bite of her own burger, a little bit of fat running down her cheek as she bites into it.

  I lean forward and wipe the trail off her chin. She holds still and our eyes lock until she looks away.

  “This is good,” she says with her mouthful of food.

  After her burger is gone, she grabs a buffalo wing and resumes her tour of the room. She stops in front of my movie and CD collection. Randomly, she pulls out movies, making little comments here and there, until she stops and holds one up in the air.

  “So,” she looks at me. “You’ve been researching the director of your current film.”

  I smile.

  “I had to. You gotta know what you’re getting into.”

  She shakes her head.

  “Todd Alexander, you really are very different from how the press presents you.”

  I take a little bow.

  “I hope that’s a compliment.”

  Sophie chuckles and puts the film back.

  “My, my, you have more than one of my films. You really have done your homework.”

  I shrug.

  “I had to see how good you are.”

  Her right eyebrow arches a little.

  “I knew you must be good because you are a Palmer, but boy, I had no idea how good you really are. Your last one, The Streets of Brooklyn, really spoke to me. I was in tears by the end.”

  Now she’s embarrassed. Her cheeks are a light tinge of red, and all I want to do is go and kiss her.

  “You are full of surprises…from the food you like to the way you approach your work.”

  “I hope they are pleasant surprises,” I say and see her face go even redder.

  Sophie

  Talk about putting my foot in it—and not just a dainty little foot. No, more like a giant elephant foot.

  “I can’t believe you did your homework.”

  I don’t like eating humble pie, but then again, I’m not one to shy away from admitting being wrong. And maybe I was wrong about Todd.

  Todd just shrugs.

  “I didn’t do any research on you.”

  I feel the need to be honest. He was honest with me; it is only fair I extend him the same courtesy.

  “I haven’t even watched any of your films.”

  No point in lying about this.

  To my surprise, he laughs.

  “I’m sure, you thought the media footage of me lately was all you needed to know.”

  Right now, a tomato wouldn’t be as red as I am. I chew my bottom lip. Suddenly, I feel about as small as a snail—no, probably smaller.

  “Well,” I try and think of something to say that is remotely polite. Alice’s words come back to me. What had she said, something about listening to his side of the story?

  “So,” I start and play with the gold pendant around my neck. “What did actually happen at the restaurant?”

  Todd sighs.

  “If I tell you what you saw on the news was not the whole story, you’ll think I’m bullshitting you.”

  I shake my head.

  “No. No, I won’t.�
�� I stop. It’s true; I know there’s always more to these sensational stories than meet the eye. I should know, they often do not tell the whole story.

  “Please tell me what happened.”

  I’ve gone to sit on his lounge. Since I’m in bare feet, I slide my legs under me. Todd comes to sit next to me. My breathing increases ever so slightly.

  “The man was actually at the restaurant with a woman,” starts Todd. “I’m not sure if she was his wife. But there they were, enjoying a meal, when suddenly, he picked up his glass and threw the water into the face of the woman.”

  I suck in my breath. How awful. I can picture the scene vividly.

  “The water is dripping off the woman’s face and onto her lap. But he does not stop there. He stands up, leans on the table, and proceeds to yell at the top of his lungs at this poor woman, who looked like a drowning poodle. Eventually, I think she could stand it no longer and stood to leave. At about this time, I had enough too and confronted the little weasel.”

  I shake my head in disbelief.

  “Why didn’t someone throw him out before you interfered,” the words are out before I can stop them.

  “Sorry,” I mutter. It sounds as if I’m being critical and I don’t mean to be.

  But he doesn’t seem to be offended by it.

  “Good question,” Todd holds up his hands. “I heard someone say something about the little man being related to the owner. But hey, your guess is as good mine.”

  I take a sip of my drink and shake my head.

  “If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s men being aggressive toward women.” Todd pauses and stares at his hands. “I mean, if you don’t want to be with the woman, leave. It’s a free country.”

  “I wonder why the press isolated the incident to make you look bad?”

  Despite my better judgment, I find myself warming to Todd Alexander. I’m remarkably comfortable in his apartment, which is not over the top, as I was expecting.

  “Goes with the bad boy image, I guess,” he offers a crooked smile and shrugs. Suddenly, he looks like a lost little boy and I resist the urge to rub my finger over his cheek and tell him things will be all right.

  “It’s not fair though, is it?”

  “But that’s life, and you get used to it. It never said anywhere it was going to be fair.”