by M. C. Frank
I get up abruptly, leaving my plate full. I walk away, then break into a jog to meet Matt, who is coming towards me across the street with long, measured strides.
“Don’t mind that,” he says as soon as he reaches me, and I’m surprised to see concern in his eyes. “Some people can’t realize that other countries besides their own exist. I’ve dealt with it my entire life. You were brilliant out there.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Did I look like a frightened chicken?”
His lips curl slowly around a smile, and he shakes his head. “Only for the few first shots.”
A few paces away Elle is twirling her fingers at the longish hairs on the nape of Wes’ neck, as he throws the wrapper of his burger in an excellent arc to the rubbish bin. I miss Ollie and Anna.
Wes leaves a sulking Elle to go talk with Tim and two other dudes and they closet themselves in a room at the villa, while Matt and I sunbathe on the immense veranda.
Soon enough, it’s time to get into the water once more.
Now I’ll start working as well.
We’re going to surf!
I knew Wes is famous for doing his own stunts, but knowing and seeing are two very different things. He hasn’t touched alcohol all day; at least he swears he hasn’t.
There are no waves to speak of right now, but they will be ‘added in post-production digitally’—whatever that means. I mean, this beach usually has really huge waves, and I get why they have picked it for a surfing scene, but right now the water’s surface is smooth as a mirror. Matt approaches me and starts telling me the moves I’m going to have to make.
“Are you kidding?” I ask him. “How am I going to surf with no waves?”
He shrugs, glancing at Tim.
“We’ll have to go to the other side of the island,” I tell him. “I know of a beach down south, it’s perfect.”
“Tim is pressed for time,” Matt frowns.
I go over to the assistant director and tell him. Tim overhears and he shakes his head immediately, everyone gathering around to witness our upcoming fight. But there is no argument in the end. Wes comes to stand next to me and listens to me carefully. At the end of my explanation he simply turns to Tim and says: “I’m game if you are.” And that’s that.
Before we pack up and leave, Tim wants a few long shots of us—Wes and me—sitting on our surfboards, just floating on the waves. So we get in the water, no rafts or cameras around us this time, only the endless Ionian sea.
Wes grabs my hand, as he did before, and looks into my eyes with an intense expression. I try to do the same with little success. “Our bodies say we’re in love right now, but our lips can say whatever we want,” he says in that mocking tone. “Even Tim can’t lip-read at this angle. No, don’t look towards them, keep your eyes on me.”
Someone is on the Rubble, almost directly on top of us, and is taking a precarious aerial shoot. How can I not look?
“So you broke into my car yesterday?” I ask, abruptly.
“Ollie asked me to do it,” he shrugs. Ollie? I perk up. “And you’re welcome.” His eyes darken. “And for the other thing as well.”
I decide right here and now, that if the ‘other thing’ is the kiss, I’ll act as if it didn’t happen. I mean, my brain is too overloaded to even begin to analyze that.
“What other thing?” I ask, defensively.
“Your drink, Ari,” he says, letting my name roll on his tongue in the most delicious way. “It was spiked, didn’t you notice?”
“What?”
I’m so surprised that I snatch my hands away in a hurry and lose my balance on the board. In a swift movement, almost invisible, he catches me expertly and rights me before I fall.
“Sorry!” he yells to the cameras. His touch on my warm, wet skin sends shivers up my spine. He glances at his watch. “You’re cold. How long are they going to keep us here?”
“Spiked?” I ask, incredulous.
“Yeah,” he replies. “Elle and Anna did it. They had it all arranged, I heard it as they were getting ready on the L&H. It’s a trick they play, you know a joke on the newbie, that kind of thing.”
“A trick?!” I repeat, outraged. “Do you know what. . . what could have happened to me. . . ?” I stop myself. I don’t even know what could happen to my head, or if it would even affect my headaches at all. But still, I’m scared at the prospect. Terrified. And that’s without even considering the dangers of alcohol poisoning, rape and extreme humiliation among my coworkers—which I don’t remember the details of, but I’m pretty sure it happened. On a massive scale.
“I know,” he answers, his voice serious.
“Well, thanks for telling me sooner,” I say. “You didn’t have to dump the drink on me, either, but I suppose that was part of the plan to humiliate me as well, right?”
“No,” he says, “of course not. It’s just, I thought you’d realize. I took you away from them, and then when I turn around, there you are again, seated at their table. I was so mad. . . I had to act quickly.” He pauses, looking at me. “Listen. I’ve been in the industry since I was a kid. The first thing you learn is to trust no one. No one. Not even your own mother.”
I snort at this, not that he knows what I’m snorting about.
“Yeah,” he says, “I grew up fast. Never had friends, never went to school. . . I hope it matured me some, although some times I think it made me a worse person than I would have been if I’d had a normal childhood. Sometimes I think it. . .”
“It drove you to drink,” I say before I can stop myself.
I can’t believe I just said that. Of course, I meant it as a joke, but something in the way he lowers his head immediately and rakes his hand through his hair tells me I touched a nerve. The billboards have never mentioned anything like this about him.
Sure, I haven’t seen him without a drink in his hand before today, and Ollie said something to him about being sober on the boat the other day, but I didn’t think he had an actual problem.
He turns to me, a haunted look on his face, and a chill runs down my spine.
“Nah, I did that myself,” he says after a minute in his bored voice. “So, yeah, you should always be prepared to save yourself, always look out for yourself. No one else will do it for you. Not like I did the other night.”
“Thank you,” I say more calmly. “That was a decent thing you did. Anna too?” I add in a small voice.
He nods, then looks away. “I won’t tell you that you’re an idiot,” he adds in a minute, “’cause we’ve established that I don’t think you are. But, please be a little more careful around people like. . . well, me, in the future.”
“I’ll try,” I say, looking down. The sunshine seems to have gone out of the sky.
“Hey,” he says, bending close. “You did really amazing today. I couldn’t believe it. And Tim was telling me something along those lines too.”
“Thanks for helping me, again,” I say, “I only did what you said.”
He looks at me curiously for a moment. “What will you do if I tell you to kiss me?” he asks. I can’t speak for a moment. He lifts a thumb to trace my jaw line and takes my hand in his lightly. “Come here, Ari,” he says softly, his voice a bit rough, as though he can’t contain it. He bends his head to mine and our mouths meet. A moan escapes his lips and his hands move to circle my waist, only this time there are no clothes between his touch and my skin. I lean into him and turn my head to let him deepen the kiss as much as he wants.
And he wants.
His hands are in my hair, on my shoulders, tangled between my fingers. This is a complete different person to the one who was pushing his lips against mine last night. He is so passionate and gentle at the same time, I can’t help but abandon myself to the moment.
With a lithe movement, he pulls me into his arms, never once lifting his lips from mine, and sweeps us both into the sea. I taste the salty water on his lips and bury my fingers into his crunchy, sunshiny hair. I hear our surfboards flop on the sea
, drifting away on the blue-green waters, and then he hooks my knees around his thighs, balancing me on his waist.
What on earth is he doing with his mou—? Oh, okay. He’s biting my lower lip. Stay calm, no big deal. He’s totally biting down, though, teasing it with his teeth and then his tongue does this thing. . .
My heart is racing and I feel myself sinking into him as though his arms are the deepest sea. I gasp, trying to catch my breath, but he doesn’t let me go. He’s supporting me with both hands, our legs tangled, our skin burning hot.
“Look at me,” he whispers against my lips.
His eyes are intense, as though they want to tell me something that his voice can’t. He buries his head in the curve of my neck and kisses me there gently. “This is no lie,” he murmurs against my hair.
I look at him, a question in my eyes.
“Cut!” the PA’s voice yells over the megaphone. “Frame. Now get your asses over here.”
Wes dives in and starts treading water, leaving me there staring after him. Oh. So that was the Will and Lizzie kissing scene. And, man was he good at it. Then again, so was I.
‘Don’t lose me.’ Yeah, right.
I dunk my flaming cheeks into the water and race Wes to the beach.
I come, of course, first.
◊◊◊
We drive to a beach in the south of Corfu, and proceed to spend the rest of the afternoon, while the sunlight lasts, shooting surfing sessions. Wes is a decent surfer, which, seriously? Is there anything this guy can’t do? And I’m not bad myself, but we have to concentrate on our moves and the directions Matt is calmly giving us over the megaphone, so we don’t talk anymore.
Fine by me.
As soon as I get out of this water, I’ll grow up. I won’t have feelings, I won’t trust anyone, and I won’t let my disappointment show. Today was the last time, I promise myself.
But for now, I steal small glances towards Wes’ amazing moves and his sculpted body as he’s swaying against the blue backdrop of a white-capped tunneling wave, wishing that kiss had been real. Wishing at least he had told me it was for the shot. Ah, never mind. I bet kissing a girl is so mundane for a dude like him, it meant nothing; he didn’t give it a second thought.
He’s just polite to me, nothing more, nothing less. At least he’s not a complete a-hole like last night. That’s something. Plus, I’ll have a story to tell Katia, but not yet, or she’s going to start putting ideas in my head.
“Camera left, Ari,” Matt’s voice calls, and I obey him, finding myself face-to-face with a camera, which causes me to fall the next minute, but the cameraman has his shot and he gives me the thumbs-up as soon as I resurface.
Wes is right on my tail, going through the same motions as me, his every movement fluid, one with the wave.
“Now just ride the wave, straight up ahead,” Matt continues as I get on my surfboard for the millionth time.
Filming surfing is in no way like actual surfing, because you have to fall all the time. Anyway, I’m doing all right, I think, but I am getting a little tired, maybe because I haven’t eaten since last night. Oh well, better to surf on an empty stomach.
There’s this feeling I get, every time I find myself on the crest of a wave, no matter how small, as though I’ll never get down again. I’ve been surfing since I was a kid, and yet it always steals my breath away. The waves that snatch me from the surface, rising me gently three, five meters in the air. If I look down, it seems like I’m staring at the abyss. At the bottom of the world.
When I was eight, I used to have to remind myself that I’ll always come down at the other end of the wave. Always. No matter how long it took, I finally made it to the shallows. Most of the time safely, too. I’m over that fear now, of course, but it’s not about surfing anymore. It’s about feeling like I’m adrift in the ocean. I’m not on top of the waves anymore; I’m tossed by them. I’m sinking.
Metaphorically, of course. Unless I don’t concentrate enough, in which case I might be literally tossed. But I won’t let that happen.
“Excellent, Ari,” Matt calls. “Wes, ride the wave from camera left to right and try to meet her in the middle there. End in a front facing shot.”
It’s not easy, but we do our best. The rush of adrenaline is pumping through my veins, giving me the strength to push myself to the limit. By the second take I’ve got the move nailed and I’m riding on a small swell towards Wes, when a sudden stab of pain in my forehead cripples me.
We’ve drifted towards the shallows again, as the wind is blowing in that direction. The waves get really big here, rising a full four meters in the air and crashing with a roar on the sand. It’s dangerous to surf here, I usually jump off the board and swim carefully out. At this point the current is so strong, blink and you’re swept under. If you’re lucky, you’ll resurface in the deep end of the sea, and try to catch your breath before the next wave covers your head. If you’re not. . .
Well, let’s try to avoid that happening for the second time in a week, shall we?
I bend my legs, trying to keep my balance, but black spots dance before my eyes and I can’t contain my reaction to the pain. In the flash of a second, I lose my footing on the board and wipe out. I fall sideways into the water, the splash leaving a nasty burn on my skin. I surface a second later, my head splitting, and try to wipe the saltwater from my eyes, hoping a wave isn’t on its way to swallow me up.
Immediately a hand is thrown before me, open, inviting me to grasp it.
“You okay there, Phelps?” Wes asks in that mocking voice, but then he sees my pale, tense face and freezes. I’m already being towed away from my board by the current, and I’m struggling to stay above and breathing. My hand reaches for the board, but I miss. My body is starting to feel weird, weightless, as I bob up and down on the waves—more down than up, if we’re being honest. Something warm and solid grabs and steadies me.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Wes whispers, bending down and taking my arm in a firm grasp before I’m submerged. “Did you swallow a lot of water out there? You’re not going to drown on me again, are you?”
I shake my head and, refusing his hand, I climb up on my own. But just as I do, I almost black out from a stab of pain, and he dives forward to catch me before I fall.
“I’m done, Matt,” he shouts. “No more for me today, mate, I’m beat. Come on,” he adds, turning to me as though he’s the one in charge.
“Cut,” Matt yells and calls for us to get out. We slide back into the water, paddling our boards towards the shore. The current is really strong and it takes a lot of effort to keep afloat, let alone steering a massive surfboard with me on top of it. It feels like I’m swimming in place.
“Wait, let me,” Wes says, grabbing my board to tow it along with his.
“I’m good,” I say.
“Well, see, now you’re being an idiot again,” Wes says. He doesn’t sound as much insulting as exasperated. “You’re wiped after all that you’ve had to do today, not to mention you haven’t eaten a bite all day. . . someone offers to help, you accept.”
“Stop calling me that!” I almost shout.
“Yeah? Then why did I have to tell Matt that I needed a break?”
“Cause you’re the star,” I answer matter-of-factly.
He tips his head back and bursts out laughing.
“Yeah, and you’re Donald Duck!” he retorts. What did he just say to me?
He keeps on swimming effortlessly, as though it requires zero strain for him to go against the swells slamming against our bodies, while holding on to both our boards.
I open my mouth and spit out water, preparing a caustic answer, but he starts talking again.
“And how do you explain the fact that the other day, even though you needed help, you didn’t once call out?” His voice turns dead serious. And a bit patronizing, too. “I was watching you, you know, from the L&H, and you deliberately turned the other way as soon as you were in trouble, as though you didn’t even need anyo
ne. I saw you were sinking and I jumped in after you the next second but I. . . ” he swallows and grabs the nape of his neck, his Adam’s apple working. “I almost didn’t get to you in time.”
He stops and places an arm on my shoulder, turning me so that we’re eye to eye as we keep bobbing on the waves. “You could have died, Ari,” he shouts over the roar of the sea. “Isn’t that more important than stupid pride? Than pretending you don’t need anyone? It doesn’t make sense. That’s what I meant when I said you were an idiot. And I still stand by it.”
“Did you just call me Donald Duck?” I ask, trying not to let it show that I’m out of breath.
“I’d call you a proper duck if you knew how to surf,” he retorts, rising that eyebrow. He seems to be expecting an answer to what he said before.
I was a bit scared at how he got me spot-on, but after that ‘duck’ comment, all I feel is annoyed. “I didn’t need anyone from your M&M boat, that’s for sure.”
He bends his face close to mine. His lips part to reveal a cheeky smile full of teeth.
“Not even me?” he asks, and for a moment I want to be the one to push those lips onto mine.
But I don’t, of course. Serves me right for thinking he was serious for a second, but it turns out he was joking all along. Very funny.
As soon as we get out, someone rushes over with a white robe for Wes and a towel for me. My headache has subsided to a dull throb, but I know these outbursts of pain haven’t ended yet. Not by far.
“Towel yourselves off, children,” Tim says as we get out. “You, come here.”
The “you” is me. My work is not done, apparently.
