by Ren Benton
She respected his aversion to being pawed in general. “I’d want some performance footage, but I wouldn’t make you act. I wouldn’t even make you lip sync.” He performed with passion that would be lost if he was reluctantly faking it, so she’d give him a stage and a crowd to play to.
“Jim will be relieved not to dig a shallow grave for another director.”
Better people wouldn’t joke about such things, or laugh in response. “I’m glad you’re not a better person, Lex. I’d have been too afraid to get you dirty if you weren’t a little scuffed up when I got you.”
The humor drained from his dark, inscrutable eyes. “Then I wouldn’t change a thing.”
In the hours that followed, Lex frequently asked her opinion — and smashed his against it until an acceptable compromise took shape. He periodically assigned her menial engineering tasks to keep her busy. When her input wasn’t sought, watching him work kept her focus away from the seething morass inside her head.
Then he decided she needed to be fed and went upstairs in search of sustenance.
It took less than a minute for the monster in her mental closet to take over the position Lex had occupied. It loomed over her at the piano, forcing her fingers to fumble on the keys, reminding her of severed nerves and blood-slick hands too weak and too late to save her brother from the killer she’d brought into their lives.
For the second time that day, Lex found her bawling in a corner.
After scooping her up and patting her back into shape like a sculpture made of sloppy oatmeal, he didn’t leave her alone again.
In a few minutes, the worst day of the year would be over. They sat side by side on the couch, watching the clock tick toward midnight.
“You don’t have to stay until the clock strikes twelve, you know.” Her head rested like a boulder against his shoulder, but if necessary, she could roll it away to let him rise. “My fairy godmother isn’t going to appear and make everything better just because it’s tomorrow.”
“Isn’t that how anniversaries work, though? All year, we grab stray feelings and stuff them in a box for a special occasion. Then we dump them out all at once and wallow for twenty-four hours before packing them away again.” His chest rose and fell with a huge yawn. “Why the hell do we do that?”
“Because people let you have one day a year. If you mope four times a week, you’re bringing down the room.”
“Huh.” He let the next minute tick past. “This is a revolutionary concept for me, so excuse my explanation if it’s clumsy, but... people who care about you hate the idea of you suffering in silence for their benefit.”
She could believe that never before occurred to him, but she’d given it some thought over the years and decided it was superior to the alternative. “I don’t want to make anyone sad or worried about me.”
“That doesn’t work at all. They know something’s wrong.”
This was nothing she hadn’t heard a thousand times, but it had weight coming from Lex because he struggled with the same lesson — it could apply to either of them. “And being shut out makes them feel responsible for whatever’s wrong.”
He squeezed her hand in silent acknowledgment of that truth.
The clock changed from 11:59 to 12:00 without fanfare.
“I do feel this much better.” Gin held up a thumb and forefinger pinched together tightly enough to whiten her nail beds. “Does that mean you’re my fairy godmother?”
“Shh. I’m undercover.” He rested his head on top of hers. “Will you be able to sleep?”
“Yeah.” Not right away, but exhaustion always triumphed eventually. “You should get some, too.”
“That won’t be a problem tonight.” With a nudge of his elbow, he toppled her sideways and tossed blankets over her until she was buried.
She freed her face from the avalanche. “Thank you, Lex.”
The words were woefully inadequate for all he’d done, but she was too raw to articulate more without bursting into tears again, which would make another mess for him to clean up.
“Any time.” He brushed his fingers across her forehead, then bent to kiss her between the eyes. “I don’t care if it’s four times a week or four times an hour. You can mope to me.”
She caught his wrist when he straightened. “Same here.”
“I’m trying.” He slid out of her grip, but not before giving her hand a parting squeeze. “Do you want all the lights off?”
She nodded.
He walked out of the live room. A moment later, the studio was plunged into darkness.
She had a hard time talking about her struggles. It must be even harder for someone conditioned from birth to be stoic and manly. She’d been so impressed by how open he’d been these past few days. “Lex?”
“Yeah,” he said through the wall between them.
Don’t make a big deal of it. He’ll get self-conscious and stop.
It’s a big fucking deal. He deserves encouragement.
He also deserved honesty despite her fear of its side effects. “I’m proud of you.”
The announcement was met with quiet. He’d left either before she finished her internal debate or after because making a fuss over his feelings drove him away, as she’d feared.
She closed her eyes, too weary to obsess more tonight about everything she’d done wrong. Morning would be soon enough to replay the scene over and over again for the rest of her life.
It seemed to take hours for exhaustion to claim its victory, but just before she submitted to its rule, Lex said, “Thank you, Gin.”
6
I’m proud of you.
Lex had to fight his knee-jerk reaction to argue with Gin after she said those words.
Because he was still a work in progress. Because he hadn’t achieved perfection. Because his past behavior set the bar for emotional aptitude so low, a horseshoe crab could scuttle over it.
The undeserved praise affixed to his heart like a burr, uncomfortably prickly and stuck until he had more energy to devote to its extraction.
Then again, after sleeping on it overnight, he was kind of getting used to its barbed grip. Living with a constant reminder he had a long way to go to earn approval she gave too generously might be a good thing.
To that end, he returned to the dungeon in the morning bearing gifts. He crouched in front of her, mug in hand, and gently blew the steam toward her face.
One green eye pried open, glittering like a grouchy dragon’s. “I thought you gave up coffee because of your ulcers.”
“I did, but it still smells like life.” He buried his nose in the mug and inhaled. “You could drink it on my behalf and describe it, slowly and in graphic detail.”
She yawned into the crook of her arm. “No bean water for me without equal parts cream, sugar, and chocolate.”
In other words, hot cocoa with a drop of coffee flavor, which was a triple shot of nope for her diet.
With a woeful sigh, he set aside the first mug and offered her another. “In anticipation of rejection, I took the liberty of bringing you leaf water.”
She pushed her nose toward that one with more interest. “Is that jasmine green?”
“The internet instructed me in proper preparation, so if it’s substandard, several alleged tea experts are in for some strong words.”
She sat up and accepted the mug in her blanket-wrapped hands. She puffed a wayward strand of hair away from her lips, only to have it slither back to the offending position.
Lex tucked the curl behind her ear before she incinerated it with a jet of fire. The first half hour of the day was a dangerous time for anything, even her own hair, to get on her nerves.
She took a sip. “Mm. You did good. What time is it?”
“Seven.”
“Shit!” She shot to her feet, all her residual sleepiness banished. “Why did you let me sleep all day?”
While she wadded the blankets into a ball, he took her place on the couch, absorbing her warmth from the leather so
it didn’t go to waste. “Because if you’re not up before dawn, you’re catching up on lost sleep. All you missed is a miserable run in cold drizzle.”
She hugged the blankets to her chest. “You went without me?”
“Hell no. Reason number two I didn’t wake you sooner — I was afraid you’d challenge me to an endurance test.”
She seized her pillow, the last piece of evidence pointing to her slacking. “There are limits to my cruelty. I’ll even help you move the couch this time.”
“I’m thinking about leaving it here to discourage visitors.”
She stuck out her tongue.
“You’re not a visitor.” He tugged the bedding out of her hands before she decided to smother him with it. “Go take one of your blistering showers and loofah off that snotty attitude before I add your name to the unwelcome mat.”
She grabbed a mug off the floor and gulped the contents. A pained expression warped her face.
“That was the coffee, wasn’t it?”
“It tastes like,” she said, slowly and in a voice warm with the promise of all the graphic detail he could ever desire, “the sweat-streaked greasepaint of a thousand Pennywise replicants writhing in frenzied carnal supplication to summon a Great Old One.”
“So you’re saying it’s a perfect cup of coffee.”
She snatched the second mug off the floor and carried both toward the exit. “Half the day is already gone, and one of us has six times more work to do than he came here for. Polish my soundtrack, music man. I want to see my face shining in it by—”
She stopped at the door. “You never said when you’re leaving.”
He was in denial, and he wanted to enjoy its scenic vistas for a few more days. “When the work is done.”
“Great. You know how I love question marks in my planner.” She stalked from the room with an inadequately caffeinated “Bite me!”
He shook out one crumpled blanket and folded it into a smooth rectangle she’d appreciate at bedtime. Because it was a shame to let a Princess Bride reference go to waste, he called after her, “As... you... wish!”
Gin lacked a loofah, but hot tea in her belly and hot water beating on her skin softened her morning surliness enough to shed — but not before she stole a little bit of Lex’s shampoo. He owed her that much for withholding his departure date.
She left her hair down to dry while jumping through the interview hoops with which Ethan had filled the rest of her morning. Each finger fluff stirred a subtle scent she associated with Lex.
He was never far from the thoughts of her interrogators. After a few polite inquiries about the movie, the current one got to the juicy angle. “How has it been, working with Lex?”
Gin preferred talking about his incredible talent, but she’d promised Olivia she would give the media something to salivate over. “No one else could have given me what I wanted. His aesthetic is the perfect fit for this project.”
She’d practically written the clickbait headline for the woman. Perry Has the Perfect Fit for Greene.
“I wouldn’t have begged him to come” — she fully expected to be called out for brazenly leading the witless with that gem, but the opposition let it stand without objection — “if I didn’t know what he’s capable of, but the rest of you will be awestruck when you hear what he’s giving me.”
“Ooh, can I get just a little taste?”
This scheme wasn’t going to work if Gin couldn’t overcome the urge to smack reporters with a rolled-up newspaper every time they humped Lex’s dignity. “You can get a sneak peek in the trailer. I’ll send you a link before it goes public.”
“I can’t wait,” the woman said as breathlessly as if she’d been promised the first look at a sex tape. “Just one more question. Was it awkward working with Olivia when you share an ex?”
Okay, enough of this crap for one day. “Do we? I don’t keep up with actors’ personal lives.”
Laughter trilled over the line. “You’re kidding, right? She and Lex were a couple when you cast her.”
They’d been singles for several months by then, but only a novice would fall into the trap of belying previous claims of ignorance. “She never mentioned it.”
That much was true. Lex had been a specter in the room at their introduction — since Olivia never thought she’d get the role and Gin knew she couldn’t afford the actress’s going rate, there’d been no legitimate professional reason for that meeting to take place — but they’d found plenty to talk about other than the man they shared a connection with. “She probably didn’t know about my history with Lex, either. That was ages ago, and we had more important things to talk about on set.”
Ethan returned from a break just in time to overhear her exit from that call. “She’s going to write that Lex isn’t memorable enough as a lover to warrant discussion.”
“Only if she wants to get laughed at. If there’s any plausibility threshold for sensationalism, that’s it.”
“Speaking of sensational, should we be worried that Liv’s on the deck taking topless selfies?”
“Is it still cold and drizzling?”
“The sun is out, and her teeth aren’t chattering.”
They didn’t have to worry about hypothermia, at least. “If nude photos accidentally-on-purpose get leaked, it will be the least shocking thing Olivia White-Church has done this year, but if it’s making you uncomfortable, I’ll tell her to cover herself.”
He waved her back into her chair. “Don’t spoil her fun on my account. It seemed strange she’d put on a show without an audience, but she probably has a plan to get one. I just hope she’s not pitching the act to Lex.”
Though Olivia and Lex had both stated the romantic phase of their relationship was a thing of the past, the potential of a reunion between them pricked at Gin. She’d be a bitch to begrudge two friends a second chance at happiness, though. “It wouldn’t be a bad thing. They understand each other.”
“You understand both of them, so I guess we’ll just all live happily ever after in one big free-love commune.”
“Think of the press release.”
He carefully examined each of his fingers before deciding upon the one that most succinctly expressed his feelings to her.
“Ethan, if you’re daydreaming about me and Lex—”
“Oh, pretty please tell me it’s ‘just professional,’ like every look that passes between you doesn’t foreshadow the exchange of bodily fluids. I need a laugh.”
The office suddenly got ten degrees warmer, but only around her face. “Okay, we’re a little past professional, but not that way.”
“Oh, sure. Just friends. Like Abelard and Heloise. Like Khal Drogo and Khaleesi.”
She hoped he’d forgotten how those love affairs ended up. “Are you suggesting castration and necromancy are relationship goals?”
“Are you suggesting they’re not?” He threw up his hands. “So much for my plans for next Valentine’s Day.”
“Don’t cancel your reservations yet. Chris does have those daredevil tendencies.”
“Even if he doesn’t need to be revived, the vet I talked to said neutering might reduce his thrill-seeking behavior.”
“Did this vet mention any... undesirable effects?”
“Like what?” Ethan’s empty-headed bobble didn’t interfere with answering the phone. “Big Jim! I was wondering if we’d have the pleasure of hearing from you. Of course she’d be delighted to speak with you and here she is.”
He ignored the frantic shake of Gin’s head, grabbed her hand, and slapped the phone into her palm.
She beamed death at him, then adopted her stone-cold producer demeanor. “Good morning, Mr. James.”
“Good morning, Ms. Greene.”
“Is there some problem with your client’s paperwork with any party that requires my personal attention?”
Please be about paperwork.
“The goddamn problem is with Lex.”
“He seems really good to me.”
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“And I would like him to stay that way, so keep that bayou pussy voodoo of yours in your pants and send him home with his sanity this time.”
She flinched at the accusation behind the request. She’d left Lex in a bad way five years ago, but staying would only have made him worse. He’d done well without her — sober, healthy, even twenty percent faster album production. If anything, Jim should be thankful she’d gotten out of his way. “Thanks. I was struggling with what to put in my Tinder profile. ‘Bayou pussy voodoo’ should get me some quality hits.”
Ethan mouthed it back at her, and she shrugged. She should probably be insulted, but every time a man voiced his superstitious fear of vaginas, a feminist got her wings and swooped into battle like a Fury. “Keep the following to yourself, Jim, but we’re behaving like professionals.”
Ethan mimed a guffaw.
She returned the finger he’d given her earlier. “Any pants business you may read about is optics to keep eyes on the movie.”
Jim snorted like a bull in her ear. “If you believe that, you’re dumber than you think the reporters are. Fine, send him back a mess, but do it in time for rehearsals.”
The planner gods would be appeased at last. “When do you need him?”
“No later than the twenty-third.”
Minus four days for the drive, so he’d have to leave early on the twentieth — nine more days here, after this one. Plenty of time for a theme song, even if it felt like no time at all, and anything else he gave her was a bonus.
Even if it felt like no time at all. “When’s opening night?”
“The thirty-first.”
“Of this month?” Timing that tight made her wheeze. “Have you even announced dates yet?”
“I’d wait until the day before each show so his offers of refunds didn’t get around to so many people, but brokers get hysterical when I push for less than a three-week lead time. Tickets for the first few shows go on sale at midnight. They’ll sell out in an hour, so get your vendor of choice on speed dial now.”
She wouldn’t make it to one of the early east coast concerts, but she’d have plenty of free time after River Bound came out if her writer’s block persisted. “It’s okay if I’m shut out. I know a guy in the band.”
