by Renee Rose
She sat down and pulled her phone out of her purse. She only had a little bit of battery left. Probably not her best plan to have her phone play the part of lunch date today. She turned it off and stuck it back in her purse.
The waitress came around and she ordered a chamomile tea. If only they could make it strong enough to counteract the amphetamine coursing through her system now. At this rate, she wouldn’t sleep for days.
She searched through her purse for her lipgloss and then decided to organize the jumbled mess in her bag. She began to remove the contents of her purse one by one, placing them on the chair beside her so she didn’t call attention to herself. She could just see that headline: Lonely Marissa Sparks Asked to Leave Restaurant for Acting like Bag Lady.” She supposed that would be better than some of the other half-truths they’d said about her.
She glanced up as the maitre d’ showed three other people to the patio.
Oh shit.
She sank down in her chair, wishing she had a hat or sunglasses to hide behind. Joel and two of the female supporting actors were coming toward her. It annoyed her that he’d asked them to lunch. Or maybe they’d asked him, but still—she’d never been invited to a meal with him.
“Oh, there’s Marissa,” she heard Joel say as she pretended not to see them. “Do you mind? I need to have a talk with her.”
“No, I don’t mind,” one of the actors said, although she obviously did. She and her cohort took a table for two, looking disappointed.
And Marissa should not feel so satisfied over that.
She watched him approach out of the corner of her eye, still pretending she hadn’t noticed his arrival. His long legs made the trip a short one. He stopped opposite the table from her.
She lifted her eyes and put on her best smirk. “Have you come to lecture me again?”
*****
Da-yum. Marissa Sparks was batting her huge baby blues at him, a naughty, coquettish smile on her face. She had changed into a slouchy mini-dress that fell off one shoulder. Did she know what that did to him?
He imagined she did. That was what gave her the “it factor”—the ability to produce the perfect persona for every occasion. A true actress.
He leaned down and rested his hands on the table, invading her space. “Nah, I thought we could go straight to the spanking.”
To his delight, her pupils dilated and her smile widened as if she was amenable to the idea. She waved to the seat across from her. “Have a seat.” She began to pick up several personal articles strewn about on the chair beside her, stuffing them into her purse.
“What were you doing?”
“Oh, nothing. I started organizing my purse and I got a little carried away. The prescription I took was for A.D.D, but I think it gave me a little too much focus.”
He slid into the chair, which seemed way too far away from her. “Do you have A.D.D.?”
She raised both eyebrows and gave him a “don’t be stupid” kind of look.
“Right.”
The waitress handed him a menu and took his drink order. “Did you already order?” he asked Marissa.
“I’m not eating,” she said. “Not hungry.”
“You know, at the risk of playing Daddy, I’m going to tell you that I think you need to try to get something in your stomach. You’ll need it with that pill you took, even though it took away your appetite.”
He’d been testing her with the word Daddy, and she didn’t disappoint. Her mouth opened, the flirty smirk returning.
“Okay, Daddy,” she said, looking at him from under her lashes. “What do you suggest I eat?”
His cock went rock hard.
She picked up her cup of tea and sipped it, never removing her eyes from his.
He smiled, a virile sense of power coursing through him at her acceptance of his game. He glanced at the menu. “Any dietary restrictions?” Everyone in Hollywood had a diet they followed, whether vegan, gluten free or whatever the new fad.
“I’m paleo.”
“Paleo,” he repeated, trying to remember what he knew about that diet. “Isn’t that the opposite of vegetarian? All meat?” he teased.
“No grains, no legumes, no dairy, no processed food or refined sugar.”
He winked. “Got it. You’re lucky I’m not vegan or we’d really be at odds today.”
Her lips curved into a sultry smirk. “Then you’d be giving me that spanking with my panties down.”
Oh no she didn’t. He wondered if she knew how close he was to throwing her over his knee right then and there. Now that would make a good tabloid story.
The waitress returned with his iced tea. “We’re ready to order,” he said, shooting a glance at Marissa to see how she’d take his removal of her autonomy. “Marissa will have the steak salad and I’ll try the fish tacos.”
She didn’t look annoyed. If anything, it seemed to please her, a delicate pink shading her cheeks.
“So what’s going on with you?” he asked when the waitress had left.
Her flirty bravado fell away. She dropped her eyes and stared into her cup of tea. “Are you really going to lecture me again? Because I’m not up for it.”
He believed her. She looked fragile, as if emotions bubbled just beneath the surface. Compassion outweighed playing stern. “No, I’m not,” he said gently. “You already have my opinion on the matter.”
“Right,” she said, blushing, but the teasing look returned. “I’d better show up tomorrow, on time, with my lines memorized or you’ll spank my ass.”
He wanted to keep the dominance flirtation going, but protecting his movie came first. He shook his head. “No, I should have spanked your ass two weeks ago. We’re beyond that point, and I hope you know it. One more ruined day of shooting and you’re off the project.”
She didn’t look shocked. She did understand the severity of the situation, after all. Her hand trembled as she brought the teacup to her pouting lips. “I know,” she said when she had swallowed.
The waitress brought their food and despite her claim of not being hungry, she wolfed down her salad, which satisfied him for some reason.
“Feel any better?”
“Are you going to say you told me so?”
He laughed. “Nope.” He handed his credit card to the waitress before she had a chance to leave a bill.
“Thank you for lunch,” Marissa said. “And for not yelling at me.”
“I never yell.”
“You just spank?” she teased, pushing a strand of her honey-brown hair out of her eyes.
“Don’t forget it.” He winked. “Do you need a lift home?”
She picked up her cell phone, looking flustered and swiped the screen. “Oh,” she exclaimed. “Looks like my sister’s waiting outside. Thanks again for lunch,” she said, jumping up.
“Get some rest,” he called after her, stopping to say goodbye to the actors he’d abandoned to sit with her.
“I know, I know,” she said, turning back and giving him an eye roll. “I’ll be back tomorrow ready to film.” She turned and walked swiftly out, looking every bit as frantic and harried as she had when she’d arrived on the set that morning.
He sighed. He sure hoped she would pull it together.
*****
“Thanks a whole lot,” she snarled at Bev when she hopped in the backseat of the Porsche. Her mom sat shotgun. Of course Marissa had to ride in the back seat—it was only her car, paid for with her money, right? But, no. As always, her mom and Bev ran the show while little sis picked up the scraps. “That prescription made my eye twitch and Antonio sent me home for the day. And pretty much, if I don’t show up on time with my lines memorized tomorrow, I’m fired.”
“They can’t fire you,” her mom said breezily from the front seat. “We have a contract. Besides you know your lines.”
“Yeah, and they’re saying I’m in breach. And I did learn my lines at one point, but I have since forgotten them.”
“Well, that’s not like you, sw
eetie.”
She clenched her fists, though not even sure who to be angry with or why. Maybe just herself. “Look, I just really need to get some sleep. Can you guys give me some peace and quiet when we get home?”
“Well, sure, but I invited some people over,” Bev said.
Frustration gnawed at her, but she shoved it back down. She was just crabby because she hadn’t slept. Unlike Bev, who could party six days a week without showing any sign of stress, she didn’t do well without at least seven hours of dream time.
When they arrived at her mansion, she slipped into her bedroom (not the master suite—her sister had taken that because...well, she couldn’t remember how that happened) and flopped on the bed. A strange mixture of exhausted and chemically wired, her mind swirled in a foggy mess. Images of Antonio’s angry face, the uppity make-up girl, and Joel floated before her eyes. She recalled the feel of Joel’s restraining arms around her—the delicious strength, the way he hadn’t let go even after Antonio had called cut.
And what had all that flirty daddy-talk been about? Joel didn’t strike her as the lewd sex joke type. But it hadn’t been lewd, really. And it hadn’t exactly seemed like a joke, either. She could picture Joel as the old-fashioned strict school-master, bending her over his desk for three strokes of his cane.
Her pussy clenched. She slipped her hand into her panties. God. Joel was a real man, not like the party boy types she always dated. What would it be like to be his girl? Did he like to play spanky panky in the bedroom? Obviously.
She rolled to her belly for better leverage, humping the mattress as her fingers worked their magic. She returned to her school-room fantasy. She’d be in a little plaid skirt, of course. He’d roll up the sleeves of a buttondown shirt. She undulated her fingers between her legs, the heel of her hand pressing on her clit, her middle finger reaching all the way back to touch her anus. He would lift her skirt—slowly of course, and pull her panties down himself. Oh God, that was hot. Then he would tap her exposed buttocks with the cane. “Count them, Marissa,” he would command.
She came, her pelvic floor lifting and lowering with wave after wave of delicious release. Relaxation seeped into her muscles for the first time in days. She relaxed into the pillow. Maybe she would be able to nap.
Fifteen minutes later, she was lying on her back, reliving the ugly scene with Antonio. The pill Bev had given her kept her wide awake. She rolled over and climbed out of bed. Maybe it was better to stay awake now and just get to bed early tonight. She’d go to her room before Bev’s friends showed up so she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone.
She headed downstairs and plopped herself in front of the television with the script. She looked at the pages, but the words lay meaningless on the page. She rubbed her eyes. Well, she could review it in the morning, after a good night’s sleep. Right now she just needed to veg out.
She flipped through the channels to Hollywood Gossip. She didn’t know why she tortured herself with it, but, like an addict, she just had to check it daily to see if she’d been mentioned.
Supermodel Ella Janes is in Hollywood this week with her new boyfriend Billy Foxx who is playing at Clayton Theater tonight. Rumor has it Marissa Sparks was not in attendance at his concert last night, as things did not end nicely when Foxx dumped her for Janes.
She flipped the channel, her lunch sinking to the bottom of her stomach like a stone. It shouldn’t surprise her. The gossip had circled that topic relentlessly since August. She scrolled through the channels until she came across an older Joel Sutherland movie. Just the sound of his voice sent tingles down her spine. She tucked her legs up under her to watch.
She indulged in movies until dinnertime and then grabbed two nitrate-free all-beef hot dogs from the fridge and sat down to eat them, sans bun. The dexedrine had started to wear off and exhaustion had set back in. Her eyelids felt gritty and dry and her brain was moving slowly. She’d take a nice long bath and go to bed. Tomorrow morning she’d be a new woman.
She heard voices outside and the front door opened. Bev and a boisterous crowd of people filed in. “Let the party begin,” Bev called out happily.
She groaned. Time to hide. She stood up and padded to the foyer, slipping around the corner to the staircase. The sight of a tattooed man stopped her.
No. Way. She wanted to throw up. There, in her living room, stood her sister, her ex-boyfriend, his new supermodel girlfriend and all of his band members.
Before she could bolt for her bedroom, Billy’s blue-gray eyes drifted up the staircase and landed on her. “Heeey Marissa,” he said softly, like she was a spooked dog. He left Ella Janes standing there and headed up the staircase toward her. “I was hoping you’d be here. We really need to talk.”
They did?
“We do?”
“Yeah.” He put a hand on her low back, like he still had rights to her and guided her back into the kitchen. “Listen, babe,” he said in his dragged out, stoner-surfer voice. “I’m so glad your sister invited us over, because I’ve been feeling like we have this thing hanging between us.”
“This thing?”
“Yeah, you know...What happened between us this summer.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “What exactly did happen between us this summer?” She hated the tight, high-pitched timber of her voice.
The front door opened and closed and the number of voices downstairs increased. Someone turned on the stereo.
“You know, it’s not about you, babe. I hope you understand that. I met Ella and we just had this instant connection.”
“And you’re telling me this now? Two months after I find it out from the tabloids?”
“Okay, hey. I understand you’re a little pissy about it all. But I just wanted you to know that I still love you. I think you’re awesome. I had a ball with you. And I don’t want there to be any hard feelings between us.”
“Well, you can’t always get what you want, now can you?” It wasn’t that snappy of a line, pretty cliché, actually, but it was the best she could come up with. She wasn’t good at confrontation. She stomped out of the kitchen, up to the third floor to her bedroom.
This sucked. Why would Bev invite her ex and his new girlfriend to her house—her house, dammit—to party? Especially on a night when she had to get a good night’s sleep or her career would be over?
She skipped the bath and crawled into her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin as the band began to do a sound check. Great. Now she had to listen to Billy Foxx and his boy band playing all night long. She held the pillow over her ears.
So much for a good night’s sleep.
*****
Marissa woke in sweat-dampened pajamas. Sunlight streamed in through her window, baking her with its intensity.
Ugh. She got out of bed and turned on the ceiling fan. What time was it, anyway?
She looked at her clock and shrieked. Literally shrieked. Nine-forty. She’d been due at the studio at nine. She hadn’t set her alarm because she figured after going to bed at eight p.m., she’d be up at the crack of dawn. She raced to the bathroom and took a thirty-second shower, stopping only to heave twice down the drain. She froze when she climbed out and caught her reflection in the mirror.
No. F-ing. Way. A giant cold sore had appeared on her upper lip. She looked like she should be starring in a horror movie as the zombie girlfriend from hell. “No, no, no, no, no,” she wailed as she threw on some clothes and dashed down the stairs. Her living room was littered with beer and liquor bottles, party guests still hanging out on her couch or passed out around the room.
“No, no, no, no, no,” she repeated as she searched for the keys to her car. Bev had them last, which meant they might be anywhere. She pounded back up the stairs and threw open Bev’s door. Her sister lay naked, one leg tossed over Billy Foxx, also naked.
She started to heave again. This shouldn’t be her life. It really shouldn’t. She found her sister’s purse and dug the keys out.
“I really hate you,�
�� she muttered as she slammed the door and ran down the stairs two at a time.
Downstairs Ella Janes was stumbling around her living room.
“Your boyfriend’s upstairs in my sister’s bed,” she said as she passed her by.
“I know,” the model breezed, her lids half-lowered over red eyes. “It’s cool. We have an open relationship.”
Ugh. “Well, that works out great for you, I guess,” she said, running out the door. She jumped in the car, cursing her sister and mother the entire time. Considering it was her money they lived on, you’d think they would pay a little more attention to her career. Weren’t they supposed to be managing her? She slammed on the brakes at a red light hard enough that her seatbelt locked. She hated driving. Bev should be driving her right now.
Pulling the visor down, she flipped open the mirror. Crap. The cold sore was still there, staring back at her, the visual metaphor for uninvited guests in her life. She hit the gas when the light turned green and screeched into the parking lot at the studio, running inside.
The cast and crew were all standing on the set and every head turned when she burst in. She caught a glimpse of Joel, his arms folded across his chest, his gaze stony.
“You,” Antonio shouted, striding up to her. “How dare you show up late again?”
“I know, I’m soooo sorry,” she said.
“You’re sorry? That’s it? After ruining yesterday’s shoot, you have the nerve to show up late today and not at least try to tell me you were in a car accident, or your mother died or something?”
She spread her palms. “I don’t have an excuse. I messed up. But I’m here now, and I’m ready to go.”
He narrowed his eyes, leaning into her personal space. “What’s on your face?” He pointed a fat finger at her, his lip curling in disgust. “A cold sore?” His face tensed in brutal lines. “You are finished.” He drew a line across his throat. “Fired. Get off my set. I can’t wait for you to stop acting like a spoiled diva while I’m trying to make a movie, here.”
