Double Take: A Leading Man Romance

by Harley Rayne

  My eyes fly open. I sit up again, and shift forward. I’m suddenly interested, and equally nervous. “Uh no, not really. I’ve seen his IMDB, but…”

  “Check it.”

  “What?”

  Brett sighs. “I think you should check it.”

  I don’t want to. I’m suddenly overcome with reluctance so real that it makes me sick to my stomach. The last thing I want to do is look at something that’s going to eviscerate the first really good thing that’s happened to me in years.

  “Why? What am I going to see there, Brett?”

  “I’ll wait on the line, if you want.”

  I stand up and move around the wooden divider into my living room, my heartbeat picking up so much that I can hear it thrumming in my ear. “Yeah, I’m going.”

  Don’t do this, Kylie. Don’t do it. Whatever’s there, you don’t want to know.

  My hands are shaking as I open my laptop. Brett’s face contorted in pleasure is the first thing I see. I guess I hadn’t closed out of the page. I hurriedly type Rob’s name into the search box, and the image of Brett disappears completely.

  I’m slow to type Rob’s full name. Robert Mulligan. I’m even slower to hit the enter key. But I do, and a few things come up onto the screen.

  The first thing is a picture of an older man in a suit. The top web search is for Robert Mulligan, Attorney at Law. The second picture is of Rob, with the second search being his IMDB page. The third is his Wikipedia.

  “I’m clicking on it,” I say, and I hear Brett exhale. He’s bracing himself.

  The picture of Rob on the page is from his interview at Sundance this past year. The capture under the picture reads, Mulligan at Sundance in 2015. I quickly scan the rest of the information in that box.

  Born: 4 December 1985 (30)

  Residence: Los Angeles, California

  Born: Detroit, Michigan

  Years active: 2011 - present

  Spouse: Hannah Mulligan (m. 2013)

  Awards: Sundance: Directing Award: Dramatic - 2014

  Sundance: Director Award: Dramatic - 2015

  Something flips inside of me, and I’m not sure if it’s my heart, stomach, or some combination of both. I almost forget to keep holding onto the phone, but somehow, I do. But more than that, I feel so incredibly stupid.

  I must have been quiet for a long time, because I hear Brett’s voice on the other line. It’s soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a frightened animal. “Kylie… you there?”

  “Uh huh…” My breath is quicker. I can feel my chest rising and falling with it. Maybe I’m going to pass out again. Maybe I’m just going to hyperventilate. I’d thought I was different and special, but why would I be?

  “Kylie… listen to me. Directors like him… they’re a dime a dozen, and they’re just in it for themselves. You’re so much better than that. You’re better than him.”

  I can tell how much he hated giving me this news, but I’m glad he did. “Can you come over?”

  “Text me your address. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Brett

  This isn’t how I pictured my first trip to Kylie’s apartment.

  I’d played it out a few ways in my mind, most of which involved dropping her off after a date and kissing her in front of the door before making the very difficult decision to go home myself.

  I realize now that my chances of being with her are slim to none. I was the one who delivered this news to her. I was the one who was on the phone with her when the bottom dropped out. I’m now the friend she calls to come over to cope with the situation.

  But I also realize that I would rather sacrifice a relationship with Kylie than see her dive any deeper into a relationship with Rob and have her heart mauled any more than it already is.

  I find her apartment building easily. I take the stairs three at a time then knock on the door. I don’t know what kind of state she’ll be in, so I steel myself and prepare for the worst. The door opens and Kylie looks oddly calm, like the eye of a hurricane.

  “Hey,” she says, pressing the door open farther so I can enter.

  “Hey,” I answer as I step inside, closing the door behind me.

  Her place is small. It’s barely big enough for a Pomeranian to live in, much less a grown woman, but she seems to make it work. She’s got sparse decorations, but any more stuff and it would close her in like a trapped animal.

  I’m afraid to ask, but I do anyway. “Are you… okay?”

  She nods and shuffles to her couch -- which is inches away from her kitchen -- flopping onto it and pulling in her legs. Her chestnut hair is down and it reaches her shoulder blades. I wouldn’t have guessed it would be that long. She looks so open and honest right now. Vulnerable, but resolved.

  “I’m fine,” she answers. “I don’t know why, but I’m fine. But the idea of being alone was just…”

  “I get it. I’ve been through breakups, too.”

  I’m standing awkwardly, unsure of whether or not I’m invited to make myself comfortable, but Kylie pats the cushion beside her, and I ease onto it. I pull up a leg so I can turn to face her better.

  God, I want to kiss her so badly.

  “I didn’t take you for the relationship type,” she says, though her voice is dull. I think she’s glad not to talk about herself at the moment.

  “I don’t know that I was in the past,” I say, agreeing. “But the girlfriends I had couldn’t get past the porn thing. They were always self-conscious, like they weren’t good enough for me because I fucked professionals.”

  “Were they?”

  “Of course they were. But nothing I said could convince them otherwise. People are their own worst enemies.”

  Kylie nods, her eyes unfocused but unmoving. She’s off in another universe right now, but it’s not my job to fetch her and bring her back. It’s my job to be here waiting when she comes home on her own.

  And she does, a few minutes later, her eyes darting back up to meet mine. They’re slightly red -- I can see it even through her glasses -- like she’s been avoiding crying the best that she can. “Why did you get into porn?”

  I’m clearly the distraction she needs and I don’t hesitate to fill that role for her. “It’s kind of a long story.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “Alright.” My arm settles across the back of the couch, and I don’t take my eyes from her. “I went to college and majored in political science. I had this great idea that I’d go into politics and change the world.”

  Her eyebrows knit. I can’t tell if she’s looking right at me, or right through me. “Really?”

  “That was the plan. But when I got out of college, I had racked up a shit ton of student debt. I figured it was the same for everyone, so I started temping for LA City Hall, basically as their errand boy.”

  “You were the me of City Hall.”

  I smile. “Yeah, and I was way too good for that place, too.” That pulls a small upturn of her lips, and I take it as a victory before I continue. “I was there for about a little less than a year when my parents moved. My dad was a doctor and my mom stayed at home, but they downgraded into a one bedroom place that was completely beneath them. I found out through some digging that they’d paid off my loans, but had to sell their place to do it.”

  The pieces are starting to fit together for her. She looks at me again, mercifully distracted. “Holy shit.”

  “I was pretty pissed, and felt guilty as hell. So I went out to blow off some steam. I found myself at a bar, because that was the most typical place I could think of to pretend like my problems didn’t exist. I was on my third drink when Lori came and sat down next to me.”

  “Lori?” Kylie is floored. My relationship with her goes further back than most people realize.

  “She wasn’t quite as… plastic then. She was this gorgeous thirty-something year old, charming as hell. A porn star herself, and I wasn’t
about to pretend that I didn’t know exactly who she was. We struck up a conversation and she slipped me her card.”

  “Did you sleep with her?”

  “No. Never. But she did bring me in to meet her manager. She said I had intense eyes. I didn’t think I’d do it at first, but when I saw the contract, and the amount of money they were offering…”

  “You thought you’d be an idiot to turn it down.”

  “Exactly. And I thought… it’s just a few films. Just enough to pay back my parents so they could buy their place again, or at least one as amazing.”

  Kylie seems riveted, and she shifts to face me a little better. “Did you tell them?”

  I can’t help but smile a little. “Not at first, no. But the money was too good, and I got a small fanbase pretty quickly. I quit my job temping and told my parents.”

  “How did they take it?”

  I smirk, amused. “They’re Conservative Jews. How do you think?”

  “Shit.”

  “They’ve since come to terms. Accepted it, at least. Not like they have a choice. But I’ve been able to help take care of them, and that’s all that mattered to me at the time.”

  “So why move on?”

  That’s the question of the decade. The backs of my fingers subconsciously run over her elbow as it props up on the back of the couch. “Because sooner or later, you realize that money isn’t everything. You get everything you think you want, and you realize that all you’ve got is a penthouse and fake relationships with fake women with fake tits.”

  Kylie is quiet as she averts her eyes, and I wonder if I’ve overstepped some boundary. I retract my fingers quickly. No harm no foul, maybe. But instead, she says, “That’s what this was with Rob, wasn’t it? Fake. I thought it was real, and I thought he was good for me, but it was all just a big sandcastle. I loved the idea of him, I loved having him. I loved his wit and his charm, but I didn’t even consider the fact that he was the master at it.”

  “You know now,” I insist, and lean in slightly as though to drive home my point. “And maybe it’s not as good as knowing from the beginning, but it should be good enough. I’m starting over. You can, too.”

  Kylie shifts, scooting closer, and she lays her head down against my chest. I wrap both arms around her tightly to cradle her there. It’s an innocent gesture from both of us, but I pray she can’t hear my heart pounding in my chest. I’m laid more bare than she is at the moment, and I swallow hard to try and hide it.

  “I want to make my own movie,” she says in a small voice, even though her words are firm and even.

  “You will,” I assure her, resting my chin on the top of her head.

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Kylie

  Rob doesn’t know that I know.

  I’m not sure if Brett said anything to him, but I secretly hope not. I’d like to handle this in my own way, at my own time. And simply telling him that I’m aware of his womanizing ways seems too good for him.

  I refuse to be trivial, but I’m at least going to have the last say.

  Rob finds me in the morning with the equipment again, under a tent in the backyard, waiting for the rest of the crew to finish breakfast. He hands me a breakfast burrito, and offers me a smile. He’s feeling me out. Some kind of shoe dropped yesterday, and he wants to see what I know. “I missed you last night.”

  I deserve a Best Actress award myself. I look apologetic, endeared, and incredibly honored. “Yeah, I missed you, too. But I know you were busy.” Fucking your wife?

  “There’s so much that goes into this thing.”

  “Oh, I get it. Believe me.”

  Rob leans forward to catch my lips, but I stop him by lifting the burrito and taking a large bite. He retracts at the last moment with a laugh. “Jesus, I almost face-planted into your breakfast.”

  I’ve got a mouth full as I say, “Sorry. Starving.”

  I’m saved by Keith’s beckon of, “Rob, we need you.”

  Rob gives me a smile and holds up a finger. “To be continued.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Brett stayed the night with me. It didn’t happen on purpose, but the news of Rob’s wife evidently drained me more than I’d thought and I fell asleep on his chest. I guess he was too afraid to move me or wake me, because when I woke up with the dawn, he was still in the same position. I wondered if he’d gotten any sleep at all.

  I’d drooled on his shirt.

  He finds me as Rob is leaving, and points to him as he goes. His voice is low as he speaks to me. “Did you tell him?”

  “Not yet.” I pluck a piece of sausage from the burrito and pop it between my lips as I motion to the Tupperware in Brett’s hand. “Cold meat?”

  He grins, holding up a piece of salmon with his fork. “I’m predictable. It was the only thing in the fridge in my trailer.”

  I hold out my plate to him in offering. “Wanna trade? You could use a few extra pounds. My neck is sore from laying on you all night. You’re like stone.”

  “Your neck is sore? My chest is wet.”

  I roll my eyes, but I’m amused still. Brett has humanized himself. He’s impressed me. He’s helped me. “Next time, I’ll give you a poncho,” I tell him.

  He takes a bite of fish as he leans against a bit of spare table. “At least you got some sleep. You look one hell of a lot better than you did when I got to the door last night.”

  “That was for different reasons.”

  “I figured.”

  I take another bite from the burrito, biding time to comment as I chew, and finally I ask the question that had been burning since he called me last night. “How did you find out?”

  Brett glances down briefly. He’s guarding the secret, and considering how to approach it. “Just a… rumor around set.”

  Melanie. It hits me like a ton of bricks. I’d thought there was something going on between the two of them when I saw them talking. It had been so obvious to me then, and I feel incredibly stupid for not listening to my gut.

  “I see.”

  He nods and confirms, “Rumor also has it he’s in the middle of a divorce, but I don’t know if he’ll settle down long enough to sign a fucking paper.”

  I’m resigned now. It’s over. My fly-by-night romance is done and I have more that I’ve gained than lost. “Enough about him. I’ll deal with him when it’s the right time. The movie is still… it still has precedence.”

  I think it surprises—or maybe impresses—Brett. “That’s big of you.”

  I shrug. “I’m not going to give up on this opportunity just because I got involved with someone who didn’t work out.”

  “Probably better that way.”

  Karen appears from inside the house and calls out, “Brett! You’re needed in makeup!”

  Brett looks at me and smirks, as though I’m in on a joke now. “Looks like I’m being beckoned.”

  “Do you think makeup is the code word for anything?”

  Brett rolls his eyes as he pushes off of the table and starts to the house. “Yeah. Code word for I’m a fucking dick.”

  As he disappears into the house I realize how much better I feel. Maybe it’s a weird calm before the storm, but I can’t lose something that wasn’t mine to begin with. Rob and I had a few incredible nights together, but they were as real as the fantasies he directs for his films. It was beautiful while it lasted, but there’s nothing in its wake except for the realization that it would never have worked out in the first place.

  Rob was nothing but an illusion. I held him in such high regard for so long that I didn’t realize that he thought he was beyond reproach. Maybe he is getting a divorce, but even so, he didn’t tell me. He just assumed I wouldn’t care. He took away my choices, a hands-on director even in his own life, and that’s not something I could live with anyway.

  I massage the crick in my neck a little as I realize that my luck doesn’t live and die with Rob, and neither does my career. It was a lovely cha
nge for a short while, but Brett is completely right: I’m better than this.

  The day goes by quickly, and I’m cheery through the whole thing, which surprises me. I take advantage of the fact that Rob hangs back and I leave without even saying goodbye. I go home alone and settle into bed with my laptop. I open up my screenwriting software and begin to type.

  INT. PORN STUDIO - Night

  MALE comes into frame. This is our HERO.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Brett

  We shoot until nearly one in the morning. Everyone is exhausted. I wonder if Rob keeps us here so late so he doesn’t have to go home and deal with the life he wants to escape through the lens of his camera.

  Kylie leaves almost as soon as the crew is released. I don’t blame her. I also don’t follow her. If she wanted me there, she would have asked.

  I pick up a fifth of Johnny Walker Black Label and head home instead. I’m exhausted myself, and with little to no sleep the night before, I’m even worse off. But my brain is on autopilot and it’s having a hard time shutting off, but it’s nothing a little single malt can’t fix.

  I pour myself a hefty glass on the rocks and settle onto my sofa, unwinding. I toe off my shoes and let out a breath that I’ve been holding for far too long today, and I feel better. I feel vindicated. It’s not something I wanted to be right about. The last thing I’d ever want was for Kylie—or anyone for that matter—to be hurt like this. But it’s better she learned now than later.

  I take a sip. The scotch is warm, yet it cools my mind almost immediately. My phone beeps, a text from Kylie. I unlock my phone as fast as I can to read it.

  You’re probably asleep right now, but when you get this, I wanted to ask you a few questions. See you later!

  I take a picture of the scotch in my hand and send it along to her with a message of my own. Freshly home and enjoying the evening. Fire away.

  I’m waiting for a bubble to pop up to indicate Kylie is typing, but it doesn’t. I wonder if she sent the text and went to bed herself. But my phone begins to buzz instead.