Backstage

by A. m Madden

  “Not at all. It could take hours, I have a lot of them,” I shrug. “Do you have any?”

  “One.”

  “Really? Where?” I’m curious. I picture a dainty flower on her ankle or maybe a heart on her hip.

  She points to a spot on her shoulder blade. “It’s a fountain pen and an ink jar.” She looks down at her plate, embarrassed for some reason. I watch her struggle before she says, “I want to be an author. I want to write a book. It’s a constant reminder to me of my one and only goal. I thought if I added it to my body in ink, if it was written in stone, so to speak I’d follow through.”

  She finally meets my gaze, her cheeks tinged from her embarrassment. “Stupid, right?”

  “Not at all. It’s poignant. I get it.” I do. I get it. I get her.

  We fall quiet as our plates are removed. She refuses coffee or desert. On our walk back to my apartment she tells me of her childhood. The youngest of three children, her parents were always overprotective of her. There’s a ten year age difference between her and her brothers, who are twins. Growing up with two older brothers automatically made her a tomboy. She was never a girly girl and preferred sports to ballet. Her mother tried to push her into more feminine things, but Tara wanted no part of it. Once she started dating boys, her parents and brothers made her life miserable, their overprotectiveness now on steroids. That is until she started dating her boyfriend who would become her fiancé. Their families were good friends, and her family adored him. Tara said she often felt like he was part of their family and she was the outsider.

  She chats all the way back to my apartment. I don’t want to stop her. I like hearing about her and what she was like when she was younger. I can picture a younger Tara. The images running through my head are actually of Taylor when she was a preteen. She was so awkward at that age. I have no reference, except for Taylor.

  “Tell me more,” I ask as we settle on the couch.

  “You are a hypocrite, you do realize that? You want my life history, and I’m the one writing your article. You owe me some more Trey Taylor info.”

  “Okay, I promise.”

  She sighs, shaking her head in amusement. “So, the one serious boyfriend I had ended up being the only serious boyfriend. We dated through high school and college. He was my childhood sweetheart. We knew each other most of our lives, went on vacations together with our families. Our parents were best friends.” I watch her skeptically, waiting for her to continue. “He chose not to go to college, instead staying home to help his dad with the family’s carpentry business. Right before I left for college, he proposed. In hindsight, I think he tried to hold on to me. I think that he felt if I didn’t commit to him before I left, then he’d lose me.”

  She stands and walks over to the window. Her back is rigid, and stiff. “I broke it off two weeks before the wedding.” She turns to face me and the anguish she must have gone through is clear in her eyes. So much so, it looks as if it just happened yesterday.

  “How long ago was this?” I ask.

  “Five years ago. I was a senior at BU. I accepted his proposal. I actually pretended that marrying him was what I wanted to do. I’m the worst kind of person. I knew that wasn’t what I wanted for my future, but I strung him along.”

  She stops for a second, looking up as if contemplating the words to choose next. “I guess I outgrew him? I know, it sounds shallow. I was this big time college student, getting a taste of the real world, traveling abroad, experiencing life for the first time, and the minute I got a taste of it all, I dumped him. I lost a fiancé and a family. I haven’t spoken to them in five years.”

  She looks so pained retelling the story. She carries guilt as well. It may be a different kind than I carry, but I guess it still affects her just the same. She also endured abuse by those who were supposed to love her, protect her unconditionally. Again, her story may be different than mine, but we were both abandoned.

  “You owe me more info,” she points a finger, reminding me of my promise.

  “I’m a Leo,” I offer.

  “That’s cheating, although that doesn’t surprise me. You’re extremely confident, yet very pretentious.”

  “Me? Pretentious?” I smirk, closing the distance between us.

  An awkward moment passes as we stare into each other’s eyes. She suddenly glances at her watch and announces, “I better go.” She reaches for her messenger bag and gives me a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

  “It’s late. Let me call you a cab.”

  “No need. I’ll be fine.”

  I ignore her, stepping into the hall with her to grab an elevator.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to babble and give you my life history.” She looks up at me, gauging me for my reaction.

  “Don’t be.”

  I’m hungry to know more about her. I want to know everything about her. Yet, at the same time, I know this is only going to hurt that much more when I push her away. I know at some point my cocksucker ways will kick in and I’ll hurt her.

  As we wait for her cab to pull up, she stands beside me in the lobby of my building lost in her own thoughts. I turn to face her, and my rationale flies out the window the minute she looks at me with those chocolate brown eyes.

  I cup her face with one hand, gently running my thumb along her full bottom lip. “Pull away, Trey. Pull the fuck away,” my brain tries to stop me. I’m not sure a freight train could stop me at this point.

  “Can I kiss you?”

  She nods, and I slowly place a soft kiss on her lips. It’s a mild first kiss. No tongue, no passion, just touch.

  Yet, it still rocks me to my core.

  I’ve been seeing her, a lot. More than I’ve seen any chick before. The fucking kicker is we haven’t had sex yet.

  Armageddon must be coming.

  During my interview process I saw her almost every day for one reason or another. Just as predicted, she didn’t have enough material for me. With the excuse to stretch out the article, we saw each other often. If she had a question for me, if I thought of something else she could include in the article, if she wanted to run something by me…it all warranted a personal meeting. Neither of us stated the obvious, most of the time we could have discussed it all over the phone.

  Each and every time we met she would let me kiss her. With each kiss, it got a touch more heated. It was just enough to leave us both a mess by the time we separated. It also left me wanting nothing other than her. I felt like I was dying of thirst, and she would supply one sip of water. It was just enough to survive, but not enough to quench my thirst.

  I’m not even sexually frustrated. I’m still having sex, but not as frequently as a normal day…not nearly as frequently. A man does have his needs. Who knew I could survive on less than I’ve demanded in the past? Besides, it’s not like we’re dating. Trey Taylor doesn’t date. I have no idea what we are doing.

  According to Leila we are. I went to visit her, Jack asked me to. He said she was very depressed and to please try to cheer her up. I brought over a bag full of joke books. The look on her face was hilarious. She couldn’t have been all that depressed. She spent the entire time grilling me on Tara.

  Those big mouth clowns in my band told her I’ve been seeing her, which is not fucking true. The seed had been planted, and that’s all Leila Lair needed as an excuse to harass me. I had no intention of telling them a damn, fucking thing. One night as Tara and I sat in my apartment just talking, having a few beers, with take-out food containers littering my table, Hunt and Scott showed up. I debated on letting them in. The hurt look on her face when I shushed her and asked her to keep quiet is what had me opening the door.

  Pussy. I’ve become a pussy.

  I worry about her feelings. I don’t want to hurt her. She’s already suspicious of my desire to keep our relationship to ourselves. She argues we are just friends and doesn’t understand why it’s this big secret. She admitted Leila has asked her about us, and she told her the same.

/>   How can I explain to Tara we aren’t just friends, that I’ve never acted this way with any of the chicks that I was fucking regularly…not Lori, not Trini. And we aren’t even fucking!

  My God, if those douchebags found out that:

  a) I’ve seen her a total eighteen of the last thirty days

  b) All we did was kiss

  c) I haven’t fucked her yet?

  Fuck, they would immediately know how badly I’m whipped.

  So what does all this mean?

  Fuck if I know.

  I do know I want her bad. I do know that I’m sitting here in my apartment counting the minutes until she arrives. She was very upset when she called. She submitted all the articles, and her editor flipped out regarding mine. He threatened to pull them, and not publish any. She became furious and went above the prick’s head...and now he’s making her life hell. When she arrives at my door, I do know that I want to find the douchebag who put this anguished look on her face and beat the shit out of him.

  So again, what does all this mean?

  “Hey,” she says without emotion. She walks past me, looking defeated.

  “Tara, fuck him. You’re talented and you can find assignments elsewhere. Once the articles go to print, he’ll be begging you to come back. If not, fuck him.”

  She smiles at my words. “Thanks, but it pisses me off. I met the word count. He says it’s all fluff. Anyone who reads that article is going to get a good glimpse into Trey Taylor, the man. I may not have filled it with facts from your past, but I filled it with what makes you who you are.”

  She did. She managed to capture “Trey Taylor” the quiet, reckless, rock star in the few paragraphs she has written. It wasn’t easy to do. It’s completely my fault that she’s going through this shit right now.

  “Hey, I didn’t exactly give you much to go on. You did a great job with what you had. I think it rocks. Mine should be the only opinion that matters to you.” I give her a conceited smirk, and she rolls her eyes. “Just keeping it real, Babe.”

  She softens her features and smiles shyly. “I know. Can I have a hug?”

  I pull her into my arms, wrapping myself around her. Her fingers grip the fabric of my T-shirt as she buries her face into my chest. Her hair smells amazing, she smells amazing. I love women’s bodies. I always have. Seeing the swell of a breast or a shapely leg in high heels makes me hard. This is the first time that a smile or the smell of her skin or even the way she places her hand on my arm when she’s making a point makes me hard. And when she presses into my embrace, as she’s doing now, she realizes just how hard I am.

  “What are we doing, Trey?” she says into my chest.

  “Hugging.”

  She pulls away and smacks me. “No, silly.” She motions between us and adds, “This. Us. What is this?”

  I drag a hand over my face. “Do you want a beer? Or wine? I got some.”

  “You finally got me a bottle of wine? Wow, you do like me.”

  I throw her a look before getting her wine and my beer. She follows me toward my kitchen and leans against the cabinets. Her eyes follow my every move. After I hand her a plastic cup filled with the vile stuff, she smirks. “Classy.”

  “You’re lucky I got it.” She follows me to the couch, choosing to sit on the opposite end from me. “You hungry?” I ask, stalling.

  “You never answered my question,” she calls me out.

  “What question?”

  “Stop being an ass. I’m trying to be serious.” She slowly brings her wine to her lips and takes a few sips. I sit silently watching her. I refuse to label this, this thing between us. Once it’s labeled, it’s expected.

  She waits me out. She has no idea how stubborn I can be. “You’re exhausting sometimes. The way you can sit there, not saying a word. I want to shake your thoughts out of you. Like right now, what is it that you’re thinking? I’m so curious.”

  I give her a bored look, before winking.

  “You’re slick,” she gripes. The wine I gave her is drained in one large gulp. She stands to help herself to more. From the kitchen she says, “I’ve never been with someone like you. It’s both frustrating as hell and exciting to me.” When she returns to the couch, this time she sits much closer. “The guys I’ve been with were all chatterboxes, open books compared to you. It drove me nuts, to be honest. I always attracted that type, but you’re so different. I like it, and I want to know what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m a very private person.”

  “Private is one thing, but when someone is also mysterious, closed, guarded…that’s what I am curious about.” I continue to watch her, not offering anything to alleviate her curiosity. It’s a defense mechanism that automatically occurs. It’s also as mechanical as breathing.

  A heavy sigh escapes from her parted lips. “Without saying much, you can manage to distract me from my original thoughts and send me on a tangent. I’ll ask again. What are we doing?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “I have no fucking clue.”

  Our eyes connect in a silent wage of wills. She’s willing me to please speak. I’m willing her to drop it.

  A knock on my door breaks the tension between us. Wordlessly I go to open it, expecting one of the clowns in my band. On the other side is Kate.

  “Trey,” is all she says.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask through clenched teeth.

  Tara comes up behind me, “Hi,” she says cheerfully. Kate looks over my shoulder, assessing Tara slowly.

  “Hi. I’m an old friend of Trey’s. I’m Kate.”

  “What do you want?”

  She stands awkwardly, waiting for an invite. “Can I come in?” she asks when one doesn’t come.

  “No.”

  “Not a good time?” I ignore her mocking tone and start to shut the door. This bitch is out of time.

  She puts her hand out to stop the wood from closing on her face. “I’m only in town for a few weeks. I’m on a film shoot. I’d like to catch up, as friends.”

  “Not interested.”

  “You’re an actress?” Tara asks and comes to stand beside me. Her face is pleasant as she smiles warmly at Kate, but her tone betrays her. This visit is upsetting her.

  “Porn.”

  The shock on Tara’s face is comical. Kate smiles, completely undeterred. “She’s cute. Not your usual style,” Kate says to me, before looking at Tara and adding, “I’m staying at the Hyatt, downtown. Maybe we could all do lunch? Exchange Trey notes.”

  “Not happening,” I try to push the door shut again, but she replaces her hand with her foot. “Move.”

  Kate ignores me and offers her hand to Tara. “It’s nice meeting you.” Tara accepts, returning the sentiment. Kate throws me a sideways glance and says, “Bye, Trey.”

  I slam the door with such force my windows rattle. I use it to now hold up my furious body. How the fuck did she find me? Fame. It’s all because of fame. All the cockroaches come scurrying out of their holes at the first sniff of it. She warned me, I ignored it. It’s my own fault. I should have made it very clear in L.A. if she came anywhere near me, she would regret it.

  I can feel Tara’s eyes on my back, and I wish I could slink through the closed door. Turning slowly, our eyes meet from across the room. She went to sit on the couch, and I never heard her walk away from where we stood.

  “Nice girl,” she says sarcastically.

  “Far from it.”

  Before joining her on the couch, I go to grab another beer. I resume my seat beside her and lean my head on the back of the couch, clenching my eyes shut. Anxiety bubbles up inside of me. I trust my inner instincts like one trusts a good friend. My gut has always been honest with me, never steering me wrong. My gut is telling me she’s up to no good. It also is telling me I can be found.

  It’s several long minutes later when I finally meet Tara’s gaze. “Want to talk about it?” she asks, hopeful that I’ll open up and tell her what all this is about. Why a hot,
blonde whore showed up at my door to just shoot the breeze?

  “Not really. She’s a mistake from my past, and I would like her to go away.”

  “Okay,” she resigns with sadness in her voice. “Hey, I’m gonna go.”

  “No…stay,” I reach out and take her hand. “Just sit with me.” My words leaving no confusion as to what I want from her. I just want her company, her presence. I don’t want words, because everyone fucking knows words are cheap. I just want her to be here…with me. If for no other reason other than she wants to be.

  “Okay,” she agrees and gently squeezes my hand. Suddenly, I’m so tired. I’m tired of this façade I’ve built up, of playing this role I created. My body slumps over, and I rest my head on her lap. Her cool fingers feel good on the back of my neck. She caresses my head, strokes my face, comforts me just the way I need her to at the moment. Call it an intense need that I have for a friend, a lover, a confidant, or all of the above rolled into one. I drift off dreaming of the night I took Taylor’s virginity at the creek…but it’s Tara’s face in my dream.

  I wake up disoriented and confused. When I focus, it’s then I realize I’m in my apartment and Tara is here with me. She sits very still, making me assume she’s sleeping. When she feels me stir, she resumes stroking my hair. That’s actually the last thing I remember before I fell asleep.

  “What time is it?” I ask, refusing to move. She feels so good, and her hand in my hair feels so fucking good.

  “Late,” she giggles. “It can be anywhere from two to five a.m.”

  I sit up quickly, “Shit, Tara. I’m so sorry. You have to work today.”

  She shakes her head, “Don’t worry about it.”

  A quick glance at my cell tells me it’s almost three. I feel so bad. I’ve practically held her hostage on this couch. My body is stiff when I stand to stretch. I’ve been out for hours. I wonder when she fell asleep. I remember asking her to stay, and she did just that. We never ate. I’m such a selfish prick.