by ANDREA SMITH
Chapter 8
When I awoke the following morning, I stretched languidly beneath the covers, and then turned to my side.
The bed was empty.
I sat up abruptly, brushing my hair back off of my face and looked around the room. Seth was gone. All signs of him being here were gone as well, I realized as I dropped my feet to the carpeted floor and peered around the bed.
Used condoms gone.
Condom wrappers gone.
Seth gone.
I pulled the covers back, as if I actually believed he was crouched down beneath the sheets, blanket, comforter, and bed pillows hiding from me. All that I saw were several blood stains, proof of what had transpired last night hadn’t been a seductive dream on my part.
I felt my forehead crease in confusion. Seth and I had enjoyed several rounds of lovemaking, and each time seemed to surpass the time before in the intensity of orgasmic pleasure, well, at least from my perspective. I couldn’t speak for him, but it sure as hell seemed as if he enjoyed himself plenty.
We’d fallen asleep with me curled against him, his arm thrown over me protectively. I racked my brain to recall what had been said between us before we’d drifted off to sleep, fully spent from our sexual activities.
Then I remembered. He’d said something about having some friends come by this evening to have a New Year’s Day cookout on the beach. He wanted me to come down and join them. I hadn’t acted enthused about it, particularly since I wouldn’t know a soul except for him.
But Seth, with his power of persuasion, had convinced me that they were all chill people and to give them a chance. I’d eventually capitulated when his tongue had teased me in a very special place that seemed to turn me into mindless jelly whenever he visited the region.
So, I was committed to going. Casual dress he said. Seven o’clock on the beach. I was to be there or be square according to Seth.
I spent the day fretting about the beach party. I wasn’t an overly social person, and he knew that. I couldn’t understand why this damn cookout was so important on his list of things to do on New Year’s Day. I could’ve come up with plenty more activities that wouldn’t have taken us out of this bedroom.
I laughed to myself. One night of sex and suddenly I’d transitioned into some horny teenager. Well, it wasn’t as if I had the urge to be with other guys, no, that definitely wasn’t what I needed. I only ever wanted to be with Seth, and my hopes were that he felt the same way.
Yeah, I got that we were both so young with massive growing up to do, but what was wrong with doing that together? After all, I was back in California. I knew what his dreams were and California provided the perfect landscape for that. My dreams could be pursued just about anywhere.
But the problem was, that Seth and I hadn’t done much talking last night. Our bodies had communicated very nicely, but I really hoped to get the chance to have a long, one-on-one conversation with him before he went back to New York in a few days. We had a ton of catching up to do, and I needed to explain why I’d run off the way I had without throwing his mother under the bus.
It was a little after seven before I’d finally summoned the nerve to head down to the beach for Seth’s get together. Nothing wrong with being fashionably late, but really, in L.A. nobody was ever on time. Of course, I didn’t have ‘the 401’ to blame.
I’d spent a good part of the afternoon pampering myself with a long bubble bath, and giving myself a facial with some high-end machine that Tiffany had in her bathing suite. I’d watched her use it before so I decided why the hell not.
I’d done my nails and even managed to get my hair pulled back in a perfect French braid (on the third attempt). I had then fretted over what to wear since Seth’s friends were going to be there and I’d already be at a disadvantage by being the only stranger in the group. I finally decided on the fourth or fifth sweater I’d tried on from my Christmas stash. I went through my closet for a clean pair of jeans.
I hated the fact that with a perfectly good laundry suite in the house, and yes, everything was called a suite out here, Tiffany still insisted on sending all of the laundry out with a service.
Every third day the service sent their van to pick up the dirty laundry, and the next day it all came back washed, starched, ironed, and folded. Who the hell ever heard of that for jeans, tees, and underwear?
I pulled a pair of my more worn jeans from beneath the plastic wrap that enshrouded them on a hanger. I tried my best to scrunch them up and make them look less starched, but I wasn’t making much progress and I was already late. I finally pulled them on and did a few squats to loosen them up. That was about as good as it was going to get. No more procrastinating I told myself.
Let’s do this.
It was getting dark as I made my way down the steps from my yard to the beach. The weather was clear, that stars starting to come out, and the moon was supposed to be a full one.
Down the beach, I could see the glow of the bonfire going. Several people were milling about, and as I got closer, I could make out Seth’s profile. My heart immediately skipped a few beats, and I felt downright nervous as I approached the group.
Seth spotted me as I got closer. “Hey, there she is,” he called out. “Thought maybe you were going to bug out on us tonight, Neely,” he said, giving me a crooked grin.
“No such luck, Seth,” I replied smiling.
He approached me, and put an arm around my shoulders, leading me closer to where three other guys were sitting cross-legged on blankets, poking at the fire and swigging beer from cans.
“Guys,” Seth announced, getting their attention, “This is Neely Evans. She lives down the beach, and has recently returned to Cali from Tennessee. Neely, from left to right, these bums are Jack Davis, Nelson Snyder, and Blake McMillan. I met them “in the business,” so to speak.”
Each of the guys jumped to their feet, brushing sand from their hands to shake mine. “Hey Neely,” Jack said giving me a warm smile, “Welcome to our nightmare on the beach.” He followed it with an evil laugh, which led me to believe Jack was pursuing his talents in shock theatre. “Hi Jack,” I greeted, taking in his dark good looks. Almost as hot as Seth, but not quite.
“Yo, home girl,” Nelson said, flipping up some kind of a gang sign, and then laughing and pulling me in for a hug. “Hi Nelson,” I giggled, pulling back to study his features. Red hair, lots of tats, and cool as fuck. I liked him.
“Nelson’s a goof as you can tell,” Seth said from behind me.
I turned to the third one. He was the tallest of the group, sandy blonde hair, which was worn a bit longer than the others, and he had very soft, delicate features. I’d peg him in a minute to know every play Shakespeare had written by heart. “M’lady,” Blake greeted, kissing my hand, “What fairest Demoiselle doth grace our meager fare with her beauty?”
“And Blake would be goofier,” Seth said with a chuckle.
I pulled my hand from his, and smiled. “You are overly kind, good sir, but I fear such flattery might warp my senses,” I replied, giving him some of his own.
Blake threw back his head and laughed in delight. “Touché, Neely. Are you in theatre as well?” he asked, clearly interested.
“She’s in high school, dumbass,” Seth retorted, “Neely’s an artist.”
I turned to glance up at Seth, confused by his obvious irritation with Blake for the question, and the fact that he’d wasted no time in branding me as a high schooler in front of his buddies. I was only a grade behind him, so why was it such a big deal? His face remained expressionless.
“An artist, huh?” Blake asked, ignoring Seth’s remark and taking my arm, “Come then, sit over here, and tell me about your passion. Wanna beer?”
“Thanks, I’m good,” I replied, looking back over my shoulder at Seth who was simply looking after us with a dark scowl on his face. None of this seemed familiar.
Not this crowd, certainly not Seth, or the way he was acting
. Why had he invited me here if my presence seemed to irritate him?
Blake took a seat and patted the blanket beside him. “Take a load off, Neely. I want to hear about your art.”
I sat down cross-legged and gazed over at him. “Why?”
He laughed, “Now that’s a dumb question. Okay, why not? It’s your passion, right? We all have our passions, you got a hint of mine. I’m studying Medieval Theatre at UCLA. Second year. By the way, I met Seth last summer at an actor’s workshop. I’ve been a sticky booger he can’t shake ever since. Dude’s brilliant, that’s for damn sure.”
“Is he?” I asked, clearly interested. That was a part of Seth I had never known. While he’d spent plenty of time watching over my shoulder while I sketched something or painted a landscape, I’d never been privy to his acting abilities. It’s not that I wouldn’t have been interested, because clearly, I would have, but the extent he shared it with me was in the abstract.
“I wanna be a famous actor some day, Neely. I want to be on television and eventually, I want to be in movies. I think it’d be so cool to play different parts, you know? Be the bad guy sometimes, and then play a hero or two so people could see my diversity? I know I’d be damn good at it, because Laura says I’m a born natural.”
“Oh absolutely,” Blake continued. “He blew me away last summer. He’s into that whole Stella Adler technique of acting. Works well for him, too.”
I was lost. “What’s the Stella Adler technique?”
Blake explained that unlike method acting, the Adler technique took it much further than that. “It’s not playing a part per se, that can come off as faking it, you know? It’s kind of complicated, but the best way to explain it is that the actor uses his imagination to create specific images in the mind—images with him actually living the part, not just acting it. So in effect, he is surrounding himself with those mental images. That way, the actor is being true to himself in character, and won’t have to lie or be fake in front of the camera.”
I nodded, but it still seemed so abstract to me. What kind of images I wondered, but I felt stupid asking. “So in a way, in a particular role, the actor is fully invested not only in the character, but with everything else around him?”
“Bingo!” Blake said, “By George, I think you’ve got it!”
I giggled. “Sounds complicated to me, but I know it’s been Seth’s dream for like forever.”
“Now your turn. I’ve been waiting.”
What I did seemed so lame after hearing about Seth and his brilliant acting abilities, but I was always happy to talk about my art. I shared with Blake some of the media and subject matter I preferred, and where I hoped to go with it after graduation. “It’s easier to show than explain I guess. I just know that it’s something I’ve loved doing since I was little. Started with finger painting all over Mama’s living room walls back in Tennessee.”
He laughed and then stopped abruptly, “Hey, did you do that piece hanging up in Seth’s bedroom?” he asked.
I was a tad stunned that it was still there. “Um…yeah, you saw it?”
“Hell yeah. Hard to miss. It’s brilliant by the way, but then, I’m no expert with art, just know what I like.”
“Thanks,” I replied, looking around to see where Seth was at the moment.
He was drinking a beer, talking to Jack and Nelson. Again, I wondered why he’d invited me here if his plan was to ignore me. Now I was getting a little pissed, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to make the first move to be social with the host.
“Aha,” I heard Blake say from behind me now. He’d stood up. “Here come the bimbos.”
I whirled back around and watched as four girls, all looking to be around eighteen or nineteen descended the wooden steps that were lined with solar lighting from Seth’s backyard to the beach.
“Excuse me?” I said, looking at Blake. “The bimbos?”
He chuckled good naturedly, giving me a gentle smack on the back. “Don’t take offense, Neely, they know I call them that and like me anyway. By the way, they’re gonna love that sweet little Southern accent of yours. Don’t get stung.”
My forehead creased in confusion, but Blake had already started walking towards them. “Thank fuck! Let’s eat, Drake!”
Chapter 9
Why the hell was I here?
No, the better question was: Why in the hell had I stayed here after the bimbos had arrived? Was I clueless?
The bimbos, as it turned out, were the girlfriends. That’s right. Four girls. Four guys. And then there was me. Apparently, I was the entertainment.
I wasn’t about to give Seth the satisfaction of thinking I was bothered by any of it. After all, he’d gone to so much trouble getting me down here. I certainly didn’t want his efforts to be wasted, now did I?
Brought champagne to me. √
Seduced me with kisses. √
Took my virginity. √
Invited me over to meet his girlfriend. √√
I’d gone over to where Seth was busy loading up the grill with burgers and brats for the introductions.
“Hey, Neely,” Blake started, putting his arm around a very petite and very pretty black girl, “This is Jasmine Moon.”
She smiled brightly and genuinely, holding out her hand for me to shake. “Please, call me Jazzy,” she said, “And it’s great to finally meet you, Neely. Having a good holiday?”
Her statement momentarily confused me. Had Seth talked about me to his friends? Good sign I decided.
“Nice meeting you, Jazzy—and yes, it’s uh…definitely been one to remember.”
Jack spoke up, his arm around another blonde girl, shorter in stature and immediately I could tell she was the quiet shy type. She curled into him as if she were afraid the others might devour her. “Neely, this is Amy. Amy, this is Neely.”
“Hi Neely,” the girl said timidly, “glad to meet you.”
“You too, Amy.”
“And this, is Julia,” Nelson said, smacking a tall, lithe blonde girl on the butt. “Neely moved back here from Tennessee,” he added, “She’s our home girl, dig it.”
“Hi, Julia,” I said, holding my hand out to her. She acted as if she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do, but finally, she took it in a limp handshake.
“Hey,” was all she said before quickly turning to look at the girl with the jet-black hair who was now standing over by the grill. The girl was talking in a low whisper to Seth, whose back was to the rest of us. “Chloe, don’t be rude,” Julia called out. “Come and meet Neely from Tennessee.”
She attached a Southern accent to “Tennessee.” Okay, so I could tell at least two of the girls were gonna be bitches. The jury was still out on Jazzy and Amy; but they seemed to be genuine enough. The other two not so much.
Chloe turned around and stalked over to where the rest of us were standing. Her eyes assessed me from top to bottom, finally resting on my face. She didn’t appear impressed.
“Yo, I’m Chloe,” she announced, “I’m with Seth.” Her eyes took on a haughty, I-dare-you-to-say-different attitude, as they continued to bore into mine with casual indifference.
“Chloe,” Seth warned from behind her. “Be nice, please?”
If I’d had a stake in my hand at the moment, I would’ve had no problem in pounding it through Seth’s heart. I wondered what smarmy Chloe would say if I told her Seth had spent the better portion of last night and early this morning fucking me silly?
No, I wasn’t going to go there. The smile never left my face as I gave her a friendly wink and replied, “Hi there, Chloe, pleased to meet ya!” I said, accentuating my Tennessee accent that I was damn proud of! “Oh, and congrats on that Seth thing.”
The guys chuckled, well all accept for Seth who was back manning the grill. Out of my peripheral vision I saw Julia elbow Nelson in the ribs, which resulted in him stifling his laughter.
“Hey, Neely,” Jazzy spoke up, “wanna come with me to
the cooler to get something to drink? I can’t believe these idiots haven’t been better hosts to you.”
“Hey—I offered,” Blake said, but it was lost on the both of us. I nodded so damn thankful to Jazzy I could’ve kissed her if she’d let me.
“Sure,” I said, happily, “it’s over here,” I continued waving towards the other side of the stairs where I’d seen the guys getting their refills.
Once we were out of earshot, Jazzy spoke, “Listen, don’t let the bitches run you off, Neely. It’s what they want to do. Well, except for Amy, she totally stays to herself. Won’t leave Jack’s side all evening, I swear.”
I shrugged, “Well, I figured as much, but I’m still trying to figure out why Seth invited me—hey, wait. Aren’t those chicks your friends? I mean you all came together, right?”
She gave a derisive snort. “As if. No, just arrived at the same time. As for me, I’m here for Blake. He’s a damn good guy.”
“Yeah, I got that vibe. How long have you two been…together?”
She laughed softly. “We’re not together—at least not in the way you think anyway. I’m his beard.”
“You’re what?” I asked, stopping in my tracks. “I don’t understand what that means.”
“Oh, you are a babe in the woods, aren’t you?”
I visibly bristled. What the hell was this? Was I about to get another jab on being from Tennessee? I was about to snap at her, telling her to shut the hell up but she read me.
“Hold on, I’m not dissing on you at all. Actually, Neely, you are a breath of fresh air around here and I can tell that by hardly even knowing you. What I meant is that Blake is gay, all right? And in case you failed to notice, I’m black. A beard means a cover. Blake hasn’t come out, and has no immediate plans to do so in the near future.”
“Wait. Why not? What’s wrong with him being gay? Especially here, I mean?”
“Yeah, well I get that it’s 1997, Neely. But in some aspects, it might as well be 1957. Blake feels at this point in his career, it would be detrimental to come out. Look what happened when Ellen DeGeneres did it on her own damn television show? The network had a hissy fit.”
