Heart of Change

by Roxy Harte

  I’m fine. I’m going to be fine.

  I lay the phone back on the table and put my teak lounge in a more upright position. I think too much and end up staring at my toes. My French pedicure is chipped and I have fine white sand sprinkled between my toes. I rub my hand over the smooth wooden armrest of the chaise I’m lying in and think that it is the exact same chair I was lying in the last time he came to Cabo to drag me back to Seattle.

  Has it really been ten years?

  “You look like a girl with quitting on her mind.” His voice had startled me and I’d jumped a little, which had made him laugh.

  “Not really,” I lied. I’d actually been thinking I’d wasted enough time moping around waiting for him to fall in love with me and that I should run as fast and as far away from him as I possibly could and never look back…so I bought an oceanfront, two-story, stucco villa. I’d decided to never go back.

  “You’re hiding in Cabo.”

  “Can’t a girl just be in need of a little fun in the sun?” I’d asked, trying to avoid a confrontation until I’d figured a way out of my contract. “You have realized that Seattle is a pretty dreary place to live, right?”

  “You’ve lived in Seattle a decade already. I think you’re acclimatized to the clouds by now,” he’d argued and I gave it right back to him. “No, three hundred days of rain a year is not something people get used to, it’s something they endure. So, what brings you to Cabo? Afraid of losing your biggest star?”

  “Nah, I have a contract. I’m here because I miss you.”

  I’d known he was lying, but had chosen to let my heart believe. With a shaking hand, I’d picked up my frozen drink with too many bright, colorful umbrellas leaning against the rim and batted one out of the way so that my lips could find the straw. Nonchalantly, I’d informed him, “I’ve only been gone four days.”

  “It’s been a lonely four days.”

  I admit it, I was easy then. My heart wanted to believe, so it fell for his every line, flipped over his every smile, and I chained myself tighter to his lies. “So does that mean that you are going to spend the next four days on the beach with me? Because I’m not coming back.”

  “Not even if I beg?”

  “Not a chance.” I’d pursed my lips and taken another long draw of the icy, too-sweet drink.

  “Then I guess I’m yours for four days.”

  “Really?” I’d bounded out of the chaise, bowling him onto the sand, straddling him. I’d pushed open his suit coat and started to pull off his tie. Sand flew everywhere.

  “This is a three-thousand-dollar suit,” he’d complained.

  “And you wore it to the beach?”

  He’d grabbed my face and rolled me onto my back, “I’ve missed you.”

  My heart smiled.

  We had sex in the sand, which turned out to be every bit as erotic as Hollywood would lead you to believe—and twice as messy—then within hours we were in the air, flying back to Seattle, with his promise that this time we could make it work.

  I frown at the memory. It had been a ruse and I’d been too blind and too dumb to see the truth. I didn’t want to see the truth. So why am I seeing the truth now?

  I imagine him showing up again. I imagine him begging me to go with him to Tokyo. I imagine him getting down on one knee and proffering a diamond ring… I fall asleep imagining how many ways I can tell him to take a hike.

  Day two in Cabo and my mood is worse. I’m afraid that it is because Simon hasn’t shown up. I want to feel wanted and needed. I want him to tell me that asking me to retire was a mistake. I want to be strong enough not to cry every time I think that I might just never see him again. I don’t bother going to the beach, deciding I don’t have the energy to drag myself any farther than my villa’s infinity edge pool to lounge in the sun after a sleepless night spent tossing and turning.

  I feel like screaming as I hide behind my big, square-framed sunglasses with the extra-dark lenses to hide the puffiness of my red, swollen eyes. Baking in the sun, lying to myself that it doesn’t matter if I am ever loved…not by Simon…not by Geri…and, let’s face it, really, who would be capable of falling in love with me anyway? I gave up my right to love when I chose this immoral path of self-destruction.

  I gave up any right I had to marriage and babies when I signed that first contract and started my career. Facing the real reason I’ve tried so hard for so many years to be the best porn star in the world was so that I could stay near Simon. I’ve waited two decades for Simon to fall back in love with me, but it hasn’t just been that I wanted Simon to love me. I wanted the dream. I wanted a family. I wanted a baby. And somewhere in my messed-up head I decided that if he could be a producer of erotic films and a father, he wouldn’t take issue with me being a porn star and a mother. I mean, who else in their right mind would want me to be the mother of his children?

  And it’s certainly too late to be worrying about that now.

  A stream of photos runs through my head, celebrities in their forties recently in the headlines who have given birth. Halle Berry, Julia Roberts, Naomi Watts. I think for a second that I could have a baby. If I wanted to.

  I am insane.

  I can’t have a baby…can I?

  Yes. I. Could. If I really wanted to. There is absolutely no reason why I couldn’t have a baby. And, with today’s technology, I don’t even need a man to make it happen. Oh shit. Do I want a baby?

  Day three in Cabo I throw my cell phone into the ocean because I can’t deal with one more call from Simon and no call from Geri. After such a beautiful night with her, I can’t believe she really isn’t going to call. God, I’m such a fool.

  Day four in Cabo I use the villa’s landline to call Geri because I have to hear her voice. I’ve started to believe that the moment we shared was purely a hallucination, but she doesn’t answer her cell and I don’t have any other number for her while she is away. I’m pissed as hell that she hasn’t called, but then it dawns on me that I am repeating history. First Simon, now Geri. Convincing myself that I am in love, but the person is a completely unacceptable choice—Simon because he’s a misogynistic bastard and Geri because she’s a woman. I mean, even if I’m bisexual, can a relationship between women ever really stand the test of time? And not to be rude, but I really love cock…and she doesn’t have one.

  I close my eyes, remembering the intimacy we shared. I didn’t miss having a penis in the room that night. I snort at the observation. This isn’t helping!

  Day five in Cabo and I don’t even make it downstairs. I’ve decided that I do want to have a baby. I don’t need a man in my life. I don’t need a woman in my life. But I do want what I have never had the opportunity to have…a child. Maybe I am seeking the holy grail of relationships—unconditional love—or maybe I am finally acting on the desires that propelled me to stay in Simon’s life as long as I have. I’ve always seen myself having his baby. But, after four wakeful nights, I had an epiphany.

  I. Want. A. Baby.

  It doesn’t have to be Simon’s. I crawled from the bed to in front of my computer to do some online research. There is sure to be a fertility clinic in Seattle, which means my baby could be as close as the nearest sperm donor.

  I am consumed by my new desire to have a baby, and the more I research, the more excited I’m becoming. And nervous. Am I really thinking I want to have a baby? And I’m terrified because the answer is a very big Yes! even though not everything I read online is encouraging. I find a lot of scary information related to pregnancy post-forty, which leads me to track down the best fertility specialist in Washington, Dr. Abram Jefferies. I manage to secure an appointment for Monday, thanks to a cancellation and my well-timed phone call. I decide to look upon the serendipity of the moment as a green light.

  I hang up the phone and take a new interest in the thumbnails listed on my computer screen, the week-to-week development of a fetus from just a few cells to birth. I click on one and gasp at the image of a four-week embryo. I clic
k another and another.

  “Miss Simone?” I glance up from the computer screen where I’ve been staring at the perfectly formed body of a sixth-month fetus and find the villa’s maid waits patiently in the doorway of the office. I answer, “Yes, Esmeralda?”

  She is older, mid-to-late sixties, and tends to hover, mothering me a little too much, fretting that I may not survive this latest emotional collapse. I expect that she needs another assurance that there is absolutely nothing I need her to do for me. “I’m fine.”

  “There is a gentleman caller.”

  Gentleman caller, my ass. Simon!

  I nod at Esmeralda, closing the lid to my laptop. No need for anyone else to see that I am researching my fertilization options…

  I’m still wrapped in the floral silk robe that I threw on when I climbed out of bed, but I don’t take the time to dress. Barefoot, I walk quickly down the hallway and almost run down the stairs, my heart pounding through my chest, though not for the reasons of the past.

  I’m furious—and for the first time in fifteen years, I’m embracing that fury.

  I see him standing in the foyer, so nonchalantly, so self-assured. So damn cocky.

  “I’m not having sex with you,” I tell him. “I’m furious with you.”

  “I didn’t handle things very well, and I apologize, but not taking my calls? Really, Simone, that is a level of immaturity I never expected from you.” He steps closer, attempting to close the gap between us. I cross my arms and tap my foot impatiently.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t handle it very well when I asked you to retire.”

  “You should be sorry.” I am not going to make it easy for him to ask me to come back. I knew he’d ask. I am the face of Wet City Media.

  “Well, I am.”

  “Good.”

  He lifts his brow and takes a step forward. “I need you, Simone.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and gazes deeply into my eyes.

  “You need my money…for AsiaFlixxx…you don’t need me.”

  “You’re wrong about that,” he insists. “I got another backer. I’m here for you.”

  I narrow my eyes, wanting so desperately to believe. Where his skin touches mine, I feel like I am being pulled forward by a magnet. He dips his head and I know what is coming next because a thought floats through my brain. This is wrong. But then, his lips hover over mine and I inhale his scent—expensive cologne, cigarettes, and coffee. It feels like an insane déjà vu…and it is…because we have been here before. Maybe not exactly here, not in the foyer, but here, in Cabo, when he came to take me back to the studio.

  He kisses me and I kiss him back and a surge of lightning goes up my spine. If I am a lesbian, this wouldn’t be happening.

  His tongue sweeps inside my mouth and for a moment I forget every argument why I should be pushing him away. In his arms, I feel safe and I can forget how mad I am at him.

  I push his jacket off his shoulders.

  My robe drops between us and he closes his eyes before lowering his mouth to take my nipple between his lips. He sucks then bites.

  Bisexuals are attracted to both men and women.

  “I don’t need foreplay,” I insist, wanting to forget the night with Geri, wanting to forget that it felt different than this. I unbuckle his belt and open his pants, sliding my hand into the waistband of his white cotton underwear to find him already hard and ready. “Just fuck me.”

  I don’t have to ask twice. With a growl, he lifts me and as I push down the barrier of his white cotton briefs and wrap my legs around his waist, he thrusts, sinking home. I let out a sob as emotion rolls through me. He crushes me between his body and the stucco wall of the foyer.

  He thrusts to my cries as I release the anguish that is all tied in a lump in my middle. This is sex. Just sex. Rutting. Nothing. I am as detached as when I am shooting a film. Penis. Dildo. Vibrator. Does it matter?

  Oh God.

  Geri…

  I wasn’t detached with her. Emotion was attached to each lick, each kiss, each bite…

  I’m a fucking lesbian.

  It all makes sense now. Why I didn’t date, why I was hidden in the shadows of the high school halls. Watching. I wasn’t watching the boys, I was watching the girls. The girls were sexy, enticing, interesting. The boys were just wallpaper. As an adult, I haven’t dated…

  I’ve worked.

  I’ve pursued the white picket fence and baby dream with Simon starring as the lead role, but he is just wallpaper.

  I scream, reaching for the pleasure I know I can find in his thrusts, trying to block out Geri’s beautiful, exotic eyes. I hate myself for opening to this man…again…and realizing it’s a deep need seated in wanting to be loved, regardless of who I am or what I’ve done. With despair, my body shudders and shakes with relief as my orgasm washes through me. Simon continues to hold me while I sob, my arms and legs wrapped around him, long after he has gone soft inside of me, because I finally know what I want. I figured out the answer to my own personal happiness and it may just be too late.

  I’m a lesbian.

  I’m in love with Geri.

  I’m a porn star.

  Geri hates the porn industry.

  My life led me to her, but she doesn’t want me because of who I am.

  Facing the irony of my life makes me want to vomit, especially when Simon puts me down on my feet and his warm come drips down my thigh.

  I bend and pick my robe up off the cool tile while he adjusts his clothing. I can’t look at him. I disgust myself. I pull on my robe as I cross to the other side of the foyer, putting distance between us. I want him gone. I want him out of my house. It is horrible enough thinking that Geri hasn’t called because of what I am. Porn star. Slut. Disgusting. Am I trying to prove it to myself that I am not worth loving by repeating history with Simon again and again? I really am some kind of freak. “I want you to leave.”

  Simon’s lips twitch, like he is suppressing a laugh.

  “I know I instigated this.” I wave my hands in front of me to emphasize this without having to say it out loud that we had sex. Again. “It’s my fault.”

  He does chuckle at that.

  “And now, you assume that after we have sex, I’ll follow you back home because I always follow you back home. We can’t keep doing this.”

  “What this?” he teases.

  “This.” I point between him and me. “This isn’t a healthy relationship.”

  He closes that gap between us and pulls me into him, squeezing my ass. “You feel healthy.”

  “No! Not this time.” I push against his chest, trying to escape. “I should vow to hate you all of my days for what you have done to me. What you keep doing to me.”

  He laughs. “What I’ve done to you? You’re a very wealthy woman, I hardly think you should hate me for that. And, if you remember, you came into this business quite willingly.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not talking about making me a porn star, Simon. You broke my heart. You shattered my illusions of love.”

  “Love is a highly overrated commodity,” he tells me, his face lowering to kiss me. I slap him. Slap him hard enough that my palm stings and my eyes water. “Get out, Simon. I’m not playing this game any more.”

  He looks stunned. I honestly think he didn’t see that coming and why should he have?

  “Announce my retirement. Do whatever you have to do to wrap up my career. I’m done. I’ve been done for a very long time…I just wasn’t paying attention.”

  He steps back away from me, rubbing his jaw, which I’m pleased to see is blazing bright red. He mutters around his hand, “That’s going to leave a mark.”

  “I hope it does!”

  His eyes narrow as he watches me, unsmiling. “I don’t want to leave it this way, Simone. Tell me what you’re thinking. What’s going on in your head?”

  “Does it matter? You’ve never cared before.”

  He crosses his arms and leans against the cool, white stucco wall. “That’s
harsh. I care very deeply for you and what is going on in your brain tends to affect both of us.”

  “Us?” I square my jaw and press my lips together in a tense line. “There is no us. Especially after I retire.”

  We stand there, staring at each other long enough for me to get uncomfortable, but not long enough to soften my resolve.

  He whispers, “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. I really am worried about you.”

  My shoulders slump and I try to rally against the coming assault, but when he looks at me with concerned eyes, I want to believe so badly that he really is worried. It proves I haven’t learned anything. No matter how many times he uses the same tactic, no matter that now I can see straight through the bullshit. I want to believe his bullshit.

  “Miss Simone?” Esmeralda announces from the doorway. “I placed a pitcher of iced margaritas on the veranda for you.”

  “Thank you, Esmeralda.” I dismiss her with a nod and watch as she disappears back down the hall before turning back to face Simon.

  Simon lifts his hands up in mock surrender. “I promise I won’t try anything. I just want to talk…old friend to old friend.”

  How can I argue against that?

  I lead Simon out onto the covered veranda. Ceiling fans rotate overhead, stirring the air, but a real breeze would be even more welcome. It’s very warm. Hot. I don’t envy Simon in his long sleeves, tie and suit jacket. Maybe his discomfort will lead to his quick departure.

  I pull a chair away from the table and sit. He takes off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves before sitting. I don’t feel sorry for him and I especially don’t ask if he’d be more comfortable inside.

  “Why do you always go south?”

  “The heat reminds me of home. I find it comforting,” I answer. “Why do you always feel a need to stalk me?”